"A very interesting story!" said I. "And so you are a groom now?"
"Ah!--an' you are a blacksmith, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, if it don't beat everything as ever I heard--I'm a stiff
'un, that's all!"
"What do you mean?"
"I means my droppin' in on you, like this 'ere, just as if you
wasn't the one man in all England as I was 'opeful to drop in on."
"And you find me very busy!" said I.
"Lord love me!" said the Postilion, combing his hair so very hard
that it wrinkled his brow. "I comes up from Tonbridge this 'ere
very afternoon, an', 'avin' drunk a pint over at 'The Bull'
yonder, an' axed questions as none o' they chawbacons could give
a answer to, I 'ears the chink o' your 'ammer, an' comin' over
'ere, chance like, I finds--you; I'll be gormed if it ain't
a'most onnat'ral!"
"And why?"
"'Cos you was the very i-dentical chap as I come up from
Tonbridge to find."
"Were you sent to find me?"
"Easy a bit--you're a blacksmith, a'n't you?"
"I told you so before."
"Wot's more, you looks a blacksmith in that there leather apron,
an' wi' your face all smutty. To be sure, you're powerful like
'im--Number One as was--my master as now is--"
"Did he send you to find me?"
"Some folks might take you for a gentleman, meetin' you off'and
like, but I knows different."
"As how?"
"Well, I never 'eard of a gentleman turnin' 'isself into a
blacksmith, afore, for one thing--"
"Still, one might," I ventured.
"No," answered the Postilion, with a decisive shake of the head,
"it's ag'in' natur'; when a gentleman gets down in the world, an'
'as to do summ'at for a livin', 'e generally shoots 'isself--ah!
an' I've knowed 'em do it too! An' then I've noticed as you
don't swear, nor yet curse--not even a damn."
"Seldom," said I; "but what of that?"
"I've seed a deal o' the quality in my time, one way or another
--many's the fine gentleman as I've druv, or groomed for, an'
never a one on 'em as didn't curse me--ah!" said the Postilion,
sighing and shaking his head, "'ow they did curse me!--'specially
one--a young lord--oncommon fond o' me 'e were too, in 'is way,
to the day 'is 'oss fell an' rolled on 'im. 'Jacob,' says 'e,
short like, for 'e were agoin' fast. 'Jacob!' says 'e, 'damn
your infernally ugly mug!' says 'e; 'you bet me as that cursed
brute would do for me.' 'I did, my lord,' says I, an' I remember
as the tears was a-runnin' down all our faces as we carried 'im
along on the five-barred gate, that bein' 'andiest. 'Well, devil
take your soul, you was right, Jacob, an' be damned to you!' says
'e; 'you'll find a tenner in my coat pocket 'ere, you've won it,
for I sha'n't last the day out, Jacob.' An' 'e didn't either,
for 'e died afore we got 'im 'ome, an' left me a 'undred pound in
'is will. Ah! gentlemen as is gents is all the same. Lord love
you! there never was one on 'em but damned my legs, or my liver,
or the chaise, or the 'osses, or the road, or the inns, or all on
'em together. If you was to strip me as naked as the palm o'
your 'and, an' to strip a lord, or a earl, or a gentleman as
naked as the palm o' your 'and, an' was to place us side by side
--where'd be the difference? We're both men, both flesh and
blood, a'n't we?--then where 'd be the difference? 'Oo's to
tell which is the lord an' which is the postilion?"