As Fenton
spoke, the baronet took from one of the coach pockets a large flask of
spirits and water, which he instantly, but without speaking, placed in
the scorching wretch's hands, who without a moment's hesitation, put it
to his lips and emptied it at one long, luxurious draught.
"Thanks, friend," he then exclaimed; "I have been agreeably mistaken in
you, I find. You are--you must be--no other than my worthy host of the
'Hedge.' Poor Dives! D--n the glutton; after all, I pity him, and would
fain hope that he has got relief by this time. As for Lazarus, I fear
that his condition in life was no better than it deserved. If he had
been a trump, now, and anxious to render good for evil, he would have
dropped a bottle of aquapura to the suffering glutton, for if worthy
Dives did nothing else, he fed the dogs that licked the old fellow's
sores. Fie, for shame, old Lazarus, d--n me, if I had you back again,
but we'd teach you sympathy for Dives; and how so, my friend of the
hawthorn--why, we'd send him to the poor-house,* or if that wouldn't do,
to the mad-house--to the mad-house.
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