“Believe you can’t,” said Barney, grinning. “D’yer hear that, cabby?”
“Yes, I hear,” said Sam, gruffly; “and if it weren’t that I don’t want to make a row afore the ladies, I’d have you off that trunk afore you knew where you was. And as to leaving the box alone, my missus said I was to take it down to the keb. Is it to go, old lady?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Mrs Jenkles, with flashing eyes.
“Now, Barney, d’yer hear?” said Sam.
“Who do you call Barney? You don’t know me,” said he.
“Oh no,” said Sam; “I don’t know you. I didn’t give yer a lift in my ’ansom, and drive yer away down at ’Ampton, when the mob had torn yer clothes into rags for welching, and they was going to pitch yer in the Thames, eh?”
Barney scowled, and shuffled about on his seat.
“Now, then,” said Sam; “are you going to get up?”
“No,” said Barney.
“Mrs Jenkles, pray end this scene!” exclaimed Mrs Lane, pitifully—“for her sake,” she added in a whisper.