“Indeed?” returned the other, with scant interest in the coincidence. “Well, as I say, I am a perfect stranger here. I should be glad, in fact, if you would tell me the nearest way to the High Street. I have a business appointment there.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Dobb, with equal listlessness. “Which end of ’Igh Street? It makes a difference ’ow you goes from ’ere, according to which end you want.”
“Number one hundred and twenty-one. It’s a barber’s shop.”
“I know it,” said Mr. Dobb. “Name of Bonner.”
“At present, yes,” conceded the other. “It really belongs to a lady, though—to Mrs. Jackson. Perhaps you know her?”
“’Eard of ’er, I fancy,” returned Mr. Dobb, cursorily. “Pity you got out at this station, though. Your nearest would ’ave been the station the other side of the river. ’Owever, you come along of me, and I’ll see you on the right road. Shall we just ’ave one gargle before we start?”
“Gargle?” asked the other one, in perplexity.
“Tonic,” elucidated Mr. Dobb. “Drink.”
“Thank you, no,” was the reply. “I am a lifelong abstainer from all alcoholic drinks.”
“Just as you like,” said Mr. Dobb, readily. “Well, come along with me, and I’ll take you down to the ferry and get you taken across the river, and you’ll soon be there.”