Most people would have been annoyed at this behavior. Not so the Hansom-driver. In his great vanity he completely misread their silence.
“A compliment about me,” he laughed. “Doubtless too great a one to be said aloud.”
“You needn’t fancy that,” said the Butcher rudely. “You hear a good many compliments, I don’t deny, but they all come from the same source—your own block of a head. When you are absent you get few enough, that I know for a positive fact.”
“Not that there is anything surprising in it,” the Baker said to the Hansom-driver in quite as rude a manner as the Butcher. “I am not yet aware that you are a subject for compliments.”
“‘My face is my fortune, sir, he said’,” misquoted the Hansom-driver with great conceit; “and a very handsome fortune, too,” he added.
“Your face!” exclaimed the Butcher. “Why, a sheep’s face is more to be admired than yours.”
“I beg to differ,” the Hansom-driver said, shaking his head. “I’ve never yet seen a really good-looking face amongst a flock of sheep.”
“So you actually think yours is good-looking?” sneered the Baker. “Why, I could make a better-looking one out of a piece of dough.”