"
"Hum!" said the fussy gentleman. "Ha!"
"Oh, 'e vos a great fav'rite vith the Quality," nodded Mottle-face.
"Ah! it vos a dream to see 'im 'andle the ribbons,--an' spit? Lord!
it vos a eddication to see my feyther spit, I should say so! Vun
young blood--a dock's son he vere too--vent an' 'ad a front tooth
drawed a purpose, but I never 'eard as it done much good; bless you,
to spit like my feyther you must be born to it!" (here Mottle-face
paused to suit the action to the word). "And, mark you! over an'
above all this, my feyther vere the boldest cove that ever--"
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman impatiently, "but where
does my valise come in?"
"Your walise, sir," said Mottle-face, deftly flicking the off wheeler,
"your walise comes in--at the end, sir, and I'm a-comin' to it as
qvick as you'll let me."
"Hum!" said the gentleman again.
"Now, in my feyther's time," resumed Mottle-face serenely, "the
roads vos vorse than they are to-day, ah! a sight vorse, an' as for
'ighvaymen--Lord! they vos as thick as blackberries--blackberries? I
should say so! Theer vos footpads be'ind every 'edge--gangs of
'em--an' 'ighvaymen on every 'eath--"
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman, "so many?"
"Many?" snorted Mottle-face, "there vos armies of 'em.
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