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Whereupon Mottle-face, leaning over, winked his owl-like eye, and spoke in a hoarse, penetrating whisper: "Ten mile, sir, an' not a vord out o' old Walise so far!" saying which he jerked his head towards the huddled form of the fussy gentleman, winked again, and turned away to curse the hurrying ostlers, albeit in a tone good-natured and jovial.
"Coachman," says he, "pray, when do you expect to reach The Borough, London?" "Vich I begs to re-mark, sir," retorts Mottle-face, settling his curly-brimmed hat a little further over his left eye, "vich I 'umbly begs to re-mark as I don't expect nohow!" "Eh what! what! you don't expect to "
"The 'Markis' seems a bit fresh to-night, Sam," says Mottle-face affably to one of the ostlers. "Fresh!" exclaims that worthy as the 'Marquis' rears again, "fresh, I believe you burn 'is bones!" "Driver!" shouts the fussy gentleman, "driver!" "Why then, bear 'im up werry short, Sam." "Driver!" roars the fussy little gentleman, "driver! coachman! oh, driver!"
"Vell, sir, that's me?" says Mottle-face, condescending to become aware of him at last. "Give me a hand up with my valise d'ye hear?" "Walise, sir? No, sir, can't be done, sir. In the boot, sir; guard, sir." "Boot!" cries the fussy gentleman indignantly. "I'll never trust my property in the boot!" "Then v'y not leave it be'ind, sir, and stay vith it, or "
Now here there ensued a silence, during which the fussy gentleman stared fixedly at Mottle-face, who chirruped to the horses solicitously, and turned a serene but owl-like eye up to the waning moon. "And pray," said the fussy gentleman at length, very red in the face, and more indignant than ever, "pray what's all this to do with my valise, I should like to know?"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the little man, growing angry. "I tell you this is valuable property. D'ye know who I am?" "Or ye might climb into the boot along vith it, sir " "Do you know who I am?" "All aboard all aboard for London!" roared the guard, coming up at the instant. "Valter!" cried Mottle-face. "Ay, ay, Joe?" "Gentleman's walise for the boot, Valter; and sharp's the vord!"
"An' yet," sighed Mottle-face, "'e 'ad a werry good 'eart as 'ighvaymen's 'earts go; never shot nobody unless 'e couldn't help it, an' ven 'e did, 'e allus made a werry neat job of it, an' polished 'em off nice an' qvick." "Hum!" said the fussy gentleman, "still, I'm glad he's hanged." "Black Dan used to vork the roads south o' London,
"Vell," said Mottle-face, with another ponderous wink at Barnabas, "if it troubles you much more, sir, if I vos you I should get a werry strong rope, and a werry large stone, and tie 'em together werry tight, an' drop that theer blessed walise into the river, and get rid of it that way."
"Many?" snorted Mottle-face, "there vos armies of 'em. But my feyther, as I think I mentioned afore, vere the bravest, boldest, best-plucked coachman as ever sat on a box." "I hope it runs in the family." "Sir, I ain't one give to boastin', nor yet to blowin' my own 'orn, but truth is truth, and it do!" "Good!" said the fussy gentleman, "very good!"
"That, sir, that's London, sir cobble-stones, sir, cart-vheels, sir, and Lord love you!" here Mottle-face leaned over and once more winked his owl-like eye "but 'e ain't mentioned the vord 'walise' all night, sir so 'elp me!" Having said which, Mottle-face vented a throaty chuckle, and proceeded to touch up his horses.
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