“And so he shall,” continued Tom—“So come along, my lad.”
By this time Bob had an opportunity of discovering that the person he had thus unfortunately encountered, was no other than a stout raw-boned coalheaver, and that the noise he had heard was occasioned by his sticking his pointed coal-shovel in the earth, with intention to help him up after his fall. Pursuing their way, and presently turning to the right, Bob was suddenly delighted by being brought from utter darkness into marvellous light, presenting a view of the river, with boats and barges passing and repassing with their usual activity.
“What place is this?” inquired Tallyho.
“Before you,” replied his Cousin, “is the River Thames; and in the front you will find wharfs and warehouses for the landing and housing of various merchandize, such as coals, fruit, timber, &c.: we are now under the Adelphi Terrace, where many elegant and fashionable houses are occupied by persons of some rank in society; these streets, lanes, and subterraneous passages, have been constructed for the convenience of conveying the various articles landed here into the main streets of the metropolis, and form as it were a little world under ground.”
“And no bad world neither,” replied the coalheaver, who upon inspection proved to be no other than Bob Martlet, whom they had met with as one of the heavy wet party at Charley's Crib—“For there is many a family lives down here, and gets a good bit of bread too; what does it signify where a man gets his bread, if he has but an honest appetite to eat it with: aye, and though I say it, that house in the corner there, just down by the water's edge, can supply good stuff at all times to wash it down with, and that you know's the time of day, my master: this warm weather makes one dryish like, don't it?”
Tom thought the hint dry enough, though Bob was declaring he was almost wet through; however, they took their road to the Fox under the Hill, as it is termed. On entering which a good fire presented itself, and Tallyho placed himself in front of it, in order to dry his clothes, while Bob Martlet was busy in inquiring of the landlord for a brush to give the gemman a wipe down, as, he observed, he had a sort of a trip up in these wild parts—though to be sure that there was no great wonder, for a gentleman who was near sighted, and didn't wear spectacles; “however,” continued he, “there an't no harm done; and so the gemman and I are going to drink together—arn't we, Sir?”
Tallyho, who by this time had got well roasted by the fire-side, nodded his assent, and Dashall inquired what he would like.
“Why, my master, as for that, it's not much matter to me; a drap of sky blue in a boulter of barley,{1} with a dollop of sweet,{2} and a little saw dust,{3} is no bad thing according to my thinking; but Lord bless you! if so be as how a gemman like you offers to treat Bill Martlet,
1 A boulter of barley—a drink—or a pot of porter. 2 A dollop of sweet—sugar. 3 Saw-dust—a cant term for ginger or nutmeg grated.
why Bill Martlet never looks a gift horse in the mouth, you know, as the old saying is; but our landlord knows how to make such rum stuff, as I should like you to taste it—we call it hot, don't us, landlord?—Come, lend us hold of the brush?” “Ave, and brush up, Mr. Landlord,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall; “let us have a taste of this nectar he's talking of, for we have not much time to stop.”