"Good woman," said the economical baronet, "do you know what you
are doing? A handful of meat, a couple of carrots, and a couple of
turnips, cut up into dice, and thrown into that liquor, with a little
parsley, would make excellent mutton-broth for your family."
The old woman looked up, and saw the ogre of the dockyard; and either
by losing her presence of mind, or by a most malignant slip of the
hand, she contrived to pour a part of the boiling water into the shoes
of Sir Hurricane. The baronet jumped, roared, hopped, stamped, kicked
off his shoes, and ran home, d----ning the old woman, and himself too,
for having tried to teach her how to make mutton-broth. As he ran off,
the ungrateful hag screamed after him, "Sarves you right; teach you to
mind your own business."
The next day, in his magisterial capacity, he commanded the attendance
of "the dealer in slops." "Well, Madam, what have you got to say for
yourself for scalding one of his Majesty's Justices of the Peace?
don't you know that I have the power to commit you to Maidstone gaol
for the assault?"
"I beg your honour's pardon, humbly," said the woman; "I did not know
it was your honour, or I am sure I wouldn't a done it; besides, I own
to your honour, I had a drop too much."
The good-natured baronet dismissed her with a little suitable advice,
which no doubt the good woman treated as she did that relative to the
mutton-broth.
My acquaintance with Sir Hurricane had commenced at Plymouth, when he
kicked my ship to sea in a gale of wind, for fear we should ground on
our beef bones.
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