“I’ve been to Paris and I’ve been to Dover.”
I burst out laughing, though the next moment I felt a little queer, for Ike laid his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t laugh, my lad,” he whispered; “there’s some’at queer ’bout this here.”
“Why, nonsense, Ike!” I said.
“Ah! you may say it’s nonsense; but I don’t like it.”
“I’ve been to Paris and I’ve been to Dover.”
This came very softly now, and it had such an effect on Ike that he jumped down from the shaft into the road, and taking his whip from the staple in which it was stuck, he let the cart pass him, and came round the back to my side.
“Well?” I said; “is there a cart behind?”
“I can’t hear one, and I can’t see one,” he whispered; “and I says it’s very queer. I don’t like it, my lad, so there.”
He let the cart pass him, went back behind it again, reached his own seat, and climbed in under the ladder.