“You meet me here a little after five, and I’ll tell you.”
“All right, guv’nor—I’m only a hunderstrapper, you know. You are the commander-in-chief. I does as you tell me.”
“You see you are a horsey-looking man—I am not.”
“Well, wot of that?”
“It is but natural for a horsey man to be carrying a sack of corn or tares, or what not.”
“All right—I tumble. I will be here at a little after five.”
With this understanding the two rascals parted company. The gipsy took up his quarters in a beershop, and Peace returned to his own domicile.
He was mindful of his appointment with his man Friday, who, to say the truth, was quite as faithful to our hero as Defoe’s grateful black.
Upon arriving at the stable at the appointed time, he found his trusty confederate awaiting his appearance.
The gipsy again shouldered the sack, and was conducted by Peace towards the tramway terminus, and they took up their position at the corner of Blonkstreet, where they waited for the next moving tramcar.