The Broad Highway

"I say, young cove, where are you a-pushing of?"

The speaker was a very tall individual whose sharp-pointed elbow

had, more than once, obtruded itself into my ribs. He was

extremely thin and bony, with a long, drooping nose set very much

to one side, and was possessed of a remarkable pair of eyes--that

is to say, one eyelid hung continually lower than the other, thus

lending to his otherwise sinister face an air of droll and

unexpected waggery that was quite startling to behold.

All about us were jostling throngs of men and women in snowy

smock frocks, and holiday gowns, who pushed, or were pushed,

laughed, or frowned, according to their several natures; while

above the merry hubbub rose the blare of trumpets, the braying of

horns, and the crash, and rattle of drums--in a word, I was in

the middle of an English Country Fair.

"Now then, young cove," repeated the man I have alluded to,

"where are you a-pushing of? Don't do it again, or mind your

eye!" And, saying this, he glared balefully at me with one eye

and leered jocosely with the other, and into my ribs came his

elbow again.

"You seem to be able to do something in that way yourself," I

retorted.

"Oh--do I?"

"Yes," said I; "suppose you take your elbow out of my waistcoat."

"'Elber,'" repeated the man, "what d'ye mean by 'elber'?"

"This," said I, catching his arm in no very gentle grip.

"If it's a fight you're wantin'--" began the man.

"It isn't!" said I.

"Then leggo my arm!"

"Then keep your elbow to yourself."

"'Cod! I never see such a hot-headed cove!"

"Nor I a more bad-tempered one."

This altercation had taken place as we swayed to and fro in the

crowd, from which we now slowly won free, owing chiefly to the

dexterous use of the man's bony elbows, until we presently found

ourselves in a veritable jungle of carts and wagons of all kinds

and sorts, where we stopped, facing each other.

"I'm inclined to think, young cove, as you'd be short-tempered if

you been shied at by your feller-man from your youth up," said

the man.

"What do you mean by 'shied at'?"

"What I sez!--some perfessions is easy, and some is 'ard--like

mine."

"And what is yours?"

"I'm a perfessional Sambo."

"A what?"

"Well--a 'Nigger-head' then,--blacks my face--sticks my 'ead

through a 'ole, and lets 'em shy at me--three shies a penny--them

as 'its me gets a cigar--a big 'un--them as don't--don't!"