As I stood thus listening, I leaned upon the broom which I had taken from the old man's hand when I lifted him up.
“I 'll give you a matter of ten pounds for it, master,” said a gruff-looking fellow, addressing me, while he touched the broom with his knuckle. “Five down on the nail, and the rest ten shillings a-week. Do you say done?” Before I could collect myself to understand what this offer might mean, a dozen others were crowding around me with a number of similar proposals.
“You don't know the rule amongst these fellows,” said the landlord, addressing me; “but it is this, that whoever touches the broom first after its owner is killed, succeeds to the crossing. It 's yours now, to work or dispose of, as you like best.”
“He 'll never work it,—he does n't know the town,” said one.
“He'd not know Charley Fox from Big Hullescoat the tailor.”
“He 'd splash Colonel Hanyer, and sweep clean for the Duke of Queensberry.”
“And forget to have change for Lord Bute,” cried another,—a sally so generally applauded that it showed a full appreciation of its truthfulness.
“I 'll try it, nevertheless, gentlemen,” said I, addressing the company respectfully; “and if the landlord will only give me credit for half-a-guinea's worth of liquor, we'll drink my accession to office at once.”
This was agreeably received by all, even the landlord, who ushered us into an inner room to enjoy ourselves.
If I had not transgressed too freely already on my reader's patience by details which have no immediate bearing on my own life, I should have been greatly tempted to revive some recollections of that evening,—one of the strangest I ever passed. Assuredly the guild of which I suddenly found myself a member was not one in which I could have either expected laws and regulations, or looked for anything like a rigid etiquette; yet such was precisely the case. The rules, if not many, were imperative, while the requirements to obtain success were considerable. It was not enough to know every remarkable character about town, but you should also have a knowledge of their tone and temper. Some should be dunned with importunity; others never asked for a farthing; a Scotch accent went far with General Dundas; a jest never failed with Mr. Sheridan. Besides this, an unfailing memory for every one who had crossed during the day was indispensable, and if this gift extended to chairs and coaches, all the better was it.