"
"You--you told me," spluttered the fussy gentleman, in sudden wrath,
"that you were coming to my valise."
"An' so ve have," nodded Mottle-face, triumphantly. "Ve're at it now;
ve've been a-coming to that theer blessed walise ever since you
come aboard."
"Well, and what's to be done about it?" snapped the fussy gentleman.
"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."
Hereupon the fussy gentleman uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and,
throwing himself back in his seat, tugged his hat over his eyes, and
was heard no more.
But Mottle-face, touching up the near leader with deft and delicate
play of wrist, or flicking the off wheeler, ever and anon gave vent
to sounds which, though somewhat muffled, on account of coat-collar
and shawl, were uncommonly like a chuckle. Yet if this were so or no,
Barnabas did not trouble to ascertain, for he was already in that
dreamy state 'twixt sleeping and waking, drowsily conscious of being
borne on through the summer night, past lonely cottage and farmhouse,
past fragrant ricks and barns, past wayside pools on whose still
waters stars seemed to float--on and ever on, rumbling over bridges,
clattering through sleeping hamlets and villages, up hill and down
hill, on and ever on toward London and the wonders thereof.
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