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!"
"Now the vorst of all these rogues vos a cove called Black Dan, a
thieving, murdering, desprit wagabone as vere ewcntually 'ung
sky-'igh on Pembury 'Ill--"
"Good!" said the fussy gentleman louder than before, "good! Glad of it!"
"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,
"Kent an' Surrey mostly, conseqvent it vere a long time afore 'im an'
my feyther met; but at last vun night, as my feyther vos driving
along--a good fifteen mile an hour, for it vere a uncommon fine night,
vith a moon, like as it might be now--"
"Ah?" said the fussy gentleman.
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