“ ‘Now, sir,’ says I, ‘the whole blessed inside is yourn till the end of the journey.’
“ ‘Thank you, guard,’ says he; ‘but I won’t disturb my friend, and we’ll stay as we are, thank you.’
“I got up then, and on we went—last stage, sir, through Clayton, over the downs, whipping through Pyecombe and Patcham, swish through Preston turnpike, and so into East Street, where we’d scarce entered, when there come sich a hullabaloo from underneath as if the devil, riding on the springs, had got his tail jammed in the brake. Up I jumps, and up jumps the blackamoor, screeching and clawing at George, so as he a’most dropped the ribbins.
“ ‘Eh, boss!’ he yelled. ‘De old man—down dere!—damn bad!’
“George he pulled up; and I thought he’d a bust, till I climbed over and loosened his neckercher, and let it all out. Then down we got—nigger and I, and one or two of the passengers—and looked in. ‘What the thunder’s up?’ says I. The fat man were goin’ on awful, sobbin’, and hiccupin’, and holding on to old paralysis, as were sunk back in the corner.
“ ‘I’m afraid he’s dyin’,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid he’s dyin’! O, why did I ever give way to him, and let him come!’
“Well, we all stood pretty foolish, not knowing what to say or do, when his great tricklin’ face come round like a leg o’ mutton on a spit, and, seein’ the nigger, bust into hystrikes.
“ ‘O, Cato!’ he roars; ‘O Cato, O Cato! Sich a loss if he goes!’ he roars. ‘Run on by a short cut, Cato,’ he says, ‘and see if you can find a doctor agen our drawin’ up at the “New Inn.” ’
“That seemed to us all a good idea, though, to be sure, there was no cut shorter than the straight road we was in. But anyhow, before we could re’lise it, the nigger was off like a arrer; and one of the gentlemen offered to keep the fat man company. But that he wouldn’t listen to.
“ ‘If he should come round,’ he said, ‘the shock of a stranger might send him off agen. No, no,’ he said: ‘leave me alone with my dying friend, and drive on as quick as ever you can.’