The Broad Highway

"Who indeed?" said I, setting down my hammer. "Jack is often as

good as his master--and a great deal better."

"Why, nobody!" nodded the Postilion, "not a soul till we opened

our mouths; an' then 'twould be easy enough, for my lord, or

earl, or gentleman, bein' naked, an' not likin' it (which would

only be nat'ral), would fall a-swearin' 'eavens 'ard, damning

everybody an' cursin' everything, an' never stop to think, while

I--not bein' born to it--should stand there a-shiverin' an'

tryin' a curse or two myself, maybe--but Lord! mine wouldn't

amount to nothin' at all, me not bein' nat'rally gifted, nor yet

born to it--an' this brings me round to 'er!"

"Her?"

"Ah--'er! Number Two--'er as quarrelled wi' Number One all the

way from London--'er as run away from Number One--wot about--'er?"

Here he fell to combing his hair again with his whip-handle,

while his quick, bright eyes dodged from my face to the glowing

forge and back again, and his clean-shaven lips pursed themselves

in a soundless whistle. And, as I watched him, it seemed to me

that this was the question that had been in his mind all along.

"Seeing she did manage to run away from him--Number One--she is

probably very well," I answered.

"Ah--to be sure! very well, you say?--ah, to be sure!" said the

Postilion, apparently lost in contemplation of the bellows; "an'

--where might she be, now?"

"That I am unable to tell you," said I, and began to blow up the

fire while the Postilion watched me, sucking the handle of his

whip reflectively.

"You work oncommon 'ard--drownd me if you don't!"

"Pretty hard!" I nodded.

"An' gets well paid for it, p'r'aps?"

"Not so well as I could wish," said I.

"Not so well as 'e could wish," nodded the Postilion, apparently

addressing the sledge-hammer, for his gaze was fixed upon it.

"Of course not--the 'arder a man works the wuss 'e gets paid--'ow

much did you say you got a week?"

"I named no sum," I replied.

"Well--'ow much might you be gettin' a week?"

"Ten shillings."

"Gets ten shillin' a week!" he nodded to the sledgehammer, "that

ain't much for a chap like 'im--kick me, if it is!"

"Yet I make it do very well!"

The Postilion became again absorbed in contemplation of the

bellows; indeed he studied them so intently, viewing them with

his head now on one side, now on the other, that I fell to

watching him, under my brows, and so, presently, caught him

furtively watching me. Hereupon he drew his whip from his mouth

and spoke.