"Metaphors," said Mr. Fogo.
"That's et—met-afores. Anyway, they jest fetched a yell, an' then went, sir. I guess Sam knawed the Spanish for 'corpse' afore they was gone. In less 'n a minnit not a pair o' coloured breeches cud you find, not ef you wanted them fancy articles ever so. Sam chuckles a bit to hissel', fas'ens down the lid so well as he cud, h'ists the Commodore aboard a wheelbarrer, an' trundles 'un off to the train.
"He cotches the train jest as 'twere startin', an' sails away in a fust-class carr'ge all to hissel', wi' the Commodore laid 'long the seat opposite; 'for,' said Sam, 'drat expense when a fun'ral's goin'!' An' all the way he chuckles an' grins to hissel', to think o' the start he'd gi'ed they Custom House rascals; an' at las' he gets that tickled he's bound to lie back an' fairly hurt hissel' wi' laffin'.
"I reckon, tho', he laffed a bit too early; for jest then the train slowed down, and pulled up at a stashun. Sam looked out an' saw a dapper little man a-bustlin' up an' down the platform, like a bee in a bottle, an' pryin' into the carr'ge windeys same as ef the train were a peep-show. Presently he opens the door of Sam's compartment, an' axes, holdin' up a tellygram—
"'Be you the party as es travellin' wi' a dead man?'
"He spoke i' Spanish, o' cou'se, sir; but, not knowin' the tongue, I tells et to you in English."
"I had guessed that to be the reason," replied Mr. Fogo.
"Well, Sam were a bit tuk aback, but he answers—
"'Iss, I be. Why?'
"'Want 'un berried?'