CHAPTER XV.
The tinker, blacker and grimmer than ever, stared hard at the altered person of his old acquaintance, and extended his sable fingers, as if inclined to convince himself by the sense of touch that it was Leonard in the flesh that he beheld, under vestments so marvellously elegant and preternaturally spruce.
Leonard shrank mechanically from the contact, while in great surprise he faltered,—
“You here, Mr. Sprott! What could bring you so far from home?”
“‘Ome!” echoed the tinker, “I ‘as no ‘ome! or rather, d’ ye see, Muster Fairfilt, I makes myself at ‘ome verever I goes! Lor’ love ye! I ben’t settled on no parridge. I wanders here and I vanders there, and that’s my ‘ome verever I can mend my kettles and sell my tracks!”
So saying, the tinker slid his panniers on the ground, gave a grunt of release and satisfaction, and seated himself with great composure on the stile from which Leonard had retreated.
“But, dash my wig,” resumed Mr. Sprott, as he once more surveyed Leonard, “vy, you bees a rale gentleman, now, surely! Vot’s the dodge, eh?”
“Dodge!” repeated Leonard, mechanically, “I don’t understand you.” Then, thinking that it was neither necessary nor expedient to keep up his acquaintance with Mr. Sprott, nor prudent to expose himself to the battery of questions which he foresaw that further parley would bring upon him, he extended a crown-piece to the tinker; and saying, with a half-smile, “You must excuse me for leaving you—I have business in the town; and do me the favour to accept this trifle,” he walked briskly off.
The tinker looked long at the crown-piece, and then sliding it into his pocket, said to himself,—
“Ho, ‘ush-money! No go, my swell cove.”