One day he was disturbed by the singing and preaching of a Welsh soldier
who had taken shelter from rain under the tree. David came down from
his nest, and when the mouth of the man was most open, he plunged into
the fellow's body. Henceforward in whatsoever place the soldier was
there also was David; and the soldier carried him to a clothier's shop
in Putney, the sign of the shop being written in this fashion:
J. PARKER LEWIS.
The Little (Gents. Mercer) Wonder.
Crossing the threshold, the soldier shouted: "How are you?"
The clothier, whose skin was as hide which had been scorched in a
tanner's yard, bent over the counter. "Man bach," he exclaimed, "glad am
I to see you. Pray will I now that you are all Zer Garnett." His
thanksgiving finished, he said: "Wanting a suit you do."
"Yes, and no," replied the soldier. "Cheap she must be if yes."
"You need one for certain. Shabby you are."
"This is a friendly call. To a low-class shop must a poor tommy go."
"Do you then not be cheated by an English swindler." The clothier raised
his thin voice: "Kate, here's a strange boy."
A pretty young woman, in spite of her snaggled teeth, frisked into the
room like a wanton lamb.
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