I could feel that this was all meant for the newly wedded couple, and sat with flaming cheeks. “See that there wedding in Pickydilly, last week, Bill?” Revitts pricked up his ears, and was about to speak, but the driver turned half round, and shouted—
“What, where they’d got straw laid down, and the knocker tied up in a white kid glove?”
“No-o-o!” shouted the conductor. “That wasn’t it. I mean clost ter’ Arfmoon Street, when they was just going off.”
“Oh, ah, yes; I remember now.”
“See the old buffer shy the shoe outer the front winder?”
“No-o-o!”
“He did, and it ’it one o’ the post-boys slap in the eye. Old boy had been having too much champagne.”
“Did it though?”
“Yes. I say, Bill.”
“Hal-low!”