“No,” said Bradley, glancing at the man, who was a stranger to him.
“No,” the man assented in a surly way; “my letter—it’s wrote by my daughter, but it’s mine—is about my business, and my business ain’t nobody else’s business.”
As Bradley passed out at the gate with an undecided foot, he heard it shut behind him, and heard the footstep of the man coming after him.
“ ’Scuse me,” said the man, who appeared to have been drinking and rather stumbled at him than touched him, to attract his attention: “but might you be acquainted with the t’other Governor?”
“With whom?” asked Bradley.
“With,” returned the man, pointing backward over his right shoulder with his right thumb, “the t’other Governor?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why look here,” hooking his proposition on his left-hand fingers with the forefinger of his right. “There’s two Governors, ain’t there? One and one, two—Lawyer Lightwood, my first finger, he’s one, ain’t he? Well; might you be acquainted with my middle finger, the t’other?”
“I know quite as much of him,” said Bradley, with a frown and a distant look before him, “as I want to know.”
“Hooroar!” cried the man. “Hooroar t’other t’other Governor. Hooroar t’otherest Governor! I am of your way of thinkin’.”
“Don’t make such a noise at this dead hour of the night. What are you talking about?”
“Look here, t’otherest Governor,” replied the man, becoming hoarsely confidential. “The t’other Governor he’s always joked his jokes agin me,