"Take a hackney coach, Tim! we mustn't think of it; we cannot afford such a luxury; you can't be tired yet, we are now only just clear of Hyde Park Corner."
"Still I think we had better take a coach, Japhet, and here is one coming. I always do take one when I carry out medicines, to make up for the time I lose looking at the shops, and playing peg in the ring."
I now understood what Timothy meant, which was, to get behind and have a ride for nothing. I consented to this arrangement, and we got up behind one which was already well filled inside. "The only difference between an inside and outside passenger in a hackney coach, is that one pays, and the other does not," said I, to Timothy, as we rolled along at the act of parliament speed of four miles per hour.
"That depends upon circumstances: if we are found out, in all probability we shall not only have our ride, but be paid into the bargain."
"With the coachman's whip, I presume?"
"Exactly." And Timothy had hardly time to get the word out of his mouth, when flac, flac, came the whip across our eyes—a little envious wretch, with his shirt hanging out of his trousers, having called out, Cut behind! Not wishing to have our faces, or our behinds cut any more, we hastily descended, and reached the footpath, after having gained about three miles on the road before we were discovered.
"That wasn't a bad lift, Japhet, and as for the whip I never mind that with corduroys. And now, Japhet, I'll tell you something; we must get into a wagon, if we can find one going down the road, as soon as it is dark."
"But that will cost money, Tim."
"It's economy, I tell you; for a shilling, if you bargain, you may ride the whole night, and if we stop at a public-house to sleep, we shall have to pay for our beds, as well as be obliged to order something to eat, and pay dearer for it than if we buy what we want at cooks' shops."
"There is sense in what you say, Timothy; we will look out for a wagon."