“Let’s see where had I got to? Ah, I know. Most extinguished myself with them gold-band hats. You see, I was a saying as them gatekeepers is big swells, and wants careful handling. They’re the sort of chaps that wun would like to buy at wun’s own wallyation and sell at theirs. Payin’ spec that to anybody; only I’m ’fraid as the market would soon get choked. Well, fust thing I does is to fall werry much in love with the flowers in his windy, and quite ’spectfully arsts the name of ’em; when, bein’ a bit of a gardener, he comes out with some thunderin’ great furrin word, as I knows jolly well he didn’t know the meanin’ on; and I says, ‘Oh!’ as if I was werry much obliged, and takes hold o’ one werry gently, and has a smell, and then thinks a great deal o’ the size of the blossoms, and so on; till, as if it was takin’ a great liberty, I arsts if he couldn’t cut me just one. Jest what he wanted, yer know; and making a terrible fuss over it, and explaining the wally of the plant, he snips me off a bit, and I sticks it in my button-hole, while he looked as pleased as some o’ those old buffers in white weskets as puts shillings in plates when there’s a k’lection, and then thinks as they’ve been patrons: for some folks do love to be arskt favours, and then comes the grandee as they grants ’em.
“So then I goes on a fishin’ and a fishin’, and calls him ‘sir,’ and arsts his opinion of Common Garden, and so on, till at last I hooks him, and—
“Coo-o-ome orn! What are yer up to, Nosey? Never was such a ’oss as you for lookin’ arter the main chance. That wasn’t a sixpence, stoopid, and if it was I’d a got off and picked it up without yer going down on yer knees. Never was such a ’oss as this here, sir. He’s a Paddy—come out of a Roman Catholic country, yer know; and blest if he ain’t allus a tryin’ to go down on his knees. Fancies every crossin’-sweeper he sees is a holy father, and wants to confess, I suppose. It’s a natteral weakness of his, and it’s taken all the hair off his knees. I paints ’em up a bit so as to hide the worst of it, but he’s allus a tryin’ it on. Get along, do.
“Well, I hooks him, you know—the gatekeeper, I means—and arter playin’ him a bit he was as civil as you please; gets down off his stilts, and was ready to tell me anything. So then I gets to know as my gentleman was an old colonel as had buried a daughter there two months afore, and had allus come twice a week ever since to have a look at the place. ‘An’,’ says Mr Crusp—that was the gatekeeper’s name—‘an’, as you may find out yourself if you go, I’ve got geranums an’ stocks, an’ werbenas, quite a show on ’em, for the old gentleman said he should like to see some flowers there.’ And just then out comes the old orficer, and I drives off.
“Well, sir, things goes on like this here for a matter o’ months, and—
“Just look at that, now. Coome orn, stoopid. Blest if ever there was sich a ’oss. It’s pounds outer my pocket; but the guv’nor don’t care, bless yer, as long as I take in my reg’lar dose every day. Jest look at that, now; pulling up short right in the middle of the road, cos them Jarmans was blowin’ up a row. Likes music, I spose; so do I, when I can get it good, and so does everybody, it seems to me. I was a talking to a gentleman only t’other day, jest as I may be to you, and he says, says he, ‘It’s my opinion that if you give the working classes good music, joined to good words, they wouldn’t notice them rubbishing music-hall things, as only goes down because they’re tacked on to a pretty tune.’ And he’s right, yer know, and he’s a man as has done a good deal towards improving the working people. Why, only see if a pretty tune comes up if it isn’t whistled and sung all over the town—ah, and the country too—in no time; and what’s more, it ain’t forgotten neither. Yer see, to like yer fine books and poetry a man wants eddication; but it comes nateral to him to love a pretty tune. I ain’t up to much, yer know, but I can’t stand the rubbish as folks goes and wags their heads to—and what for? only because they can’t get anything better. Who says common folks don’t love music! Just take ’em and show ’em the crowds arter the soldiers’ and volunteer bands, and in the parks, and then, perhaps, they’ll alter their tune; and—look at that, now, if I ain’t gone right away from the story. Shouldn’t do for a speaker, I shouldn’t, for it seems to me as I’m like my old ’oss, Nosey—allus wants to turn down the fust turning as comes. There he goes. Coo-o-me orn.
“Well, things goes on for a matter o’ months, and twiste a week I pockets my three-and-six; but I keeps thinking as it couldn’t last much longer. ‘So the old gentleman got tired,’ says you. Right you are! He did get tired at last, but not as you might think. He allus came same time, and stopped same time, and then I drove him back to his own door. Summer went by. The gals had cried the lavendy up and down the streets, and the swells had all gone outer town to the sea-side and the furrin waterin’ places; and for long enough, whenever a decent job had come, it had been luggage on the roof, and a bundle of sticks and umbrellys inside, and then off to some railway station or another. Kensington Gardings was a rainin’ yaller leaves all day long, while the robins was tunin’ up their melancholy little pipes, just as if there was no one else left to sing, and they was werry miserable becos the cold weather was a-comin’; while there was no sing left in me, for my asthmy was a beginning to tickle me up a bit, as it allus does in autumn time; but still my old gentleman comes as reg’lar as clockwork.
“One afternoon, as I was sitting on my box, rather cold and chilly, for the fog was a-comin’ creepin’ on earlier nor usual, I was amusin’ myself a pickin’ ov a few walnuts—eight a penny, you know, without the port wine and salt. It was a dull sort of time, when you could hear the muffin bell a-going down the side streets; and the fires shining through the window-blinds looked warm and cosy. I was a pickin’ and growlin’ away at my nuts—for they didn’t skin easy, besides being werry dry, when who should I see a-comin’ but my reg’lar fare. Up he comes along the street, straight and stiff as a drill-sergeant, and though half a dozen whips runs up touting for the job, he never takes no notice of ’em, and I draws up to the kerb, jumps down to let him in, and opens the door, when he stops with one leg in the keb.
“Yer see, this wasn’t a reg’lar thing, for arter the first time I allus knew what he wanted, and we understood one another, so that it was all done this way: jump in—set down—take up agin—set down agin—pay up—touch yer ’at—jump on the box—and nary word spoken. Sooted him, yer know; and it sooted me; so what more did you want? But now on this day it was diffurnt, for, as I said afore, he stops with one leg in the keb, and begins to speak, quite pleasant, and quiet, and civil, as a gentleman could speak, and he says, ‘Kebman, I thank you for your attention. Here’s a suffrin for you. Drive on.’
“In course, I thanked him; but he didn’t seem to want to be talked to, and I drives on, thinking it was a rum start paying aforehand. Not as I’d got anything to grumble about, for a suffrin warn’t to be sneezed at, as the sayin’ is. So I drives up to the cemetery gates; sets him down; puts the nose-bag on the mare I drove then; an’ lights my pipe.