I never forgave him for that. My father had shown him
great civility, and had introduced me to him. When at Halifax, we
resided in the same house with a mutual friend, who had always
received me as his own son. He had a son of my own age, with whom I
had long been on terms of warm friendship, and Ned and I confederated
against Sir Hurricane. Having paid a few visits _en passant_, as I
landed at the King's Wharf, shook hands with a few pretty girls, and
received their congratulations on my safe return, I went to the house
of my friend, and, without ceremony, walked into the drawing-room.
"Do you know, Sir," said the footman, "that Sir Hurricane is in his
room? but he is very busy," added the man, with a smile.
"Busy or not," said I, "I am sure he will see me," so in I walked.
Sir Hurricane was employed on something, but I could not distinctly
make out what. He had a boot between his knees and the calves of his
legs, which he pressed together, and as he turned his head round, I
perceived that he held a knife between his teeth.
"Leave the door open, messmate," said he, without taking the least
notice of me. Then rising, he drew a large, black, tom cat, by the
tail, out of the boot, and flinging it away from him to a great
distance, which distance was rapidly increased by the voluntary
exertion of the cat, which ran away as if it had been mad, "There,"
said he, "and be d----d to you, you have given me more trouble than a
whole Kentucky farm-yard; but I shall not lose my sleep any more, by
your d----d caterwauling.
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