“You are a donkey to wear it,” said Evan.
“I pledged my word as a gentleman, and thought it small, for the money!” said Raikes. “This is the first coach I ever travelled on, without making the old whip burst with laughing. I’m not myself. I’m haunted. I’m somebody else.”
The three passengers having descended, a controversy commenced between Evan and Andrew as to which should pay. Evan had his money out; Andrew dashed it behind him; Evan remonstrated.
“Well, you mustn’t pay for us two, Andrew. I would have let you do it once, but—”
“Stuff!” cried Andrew. “I ain’t paying—it’s the creditors of the estate, my boy!”
Evan looked so ingenuously surprised and hurt at his lack of principle, that Andrew chucked a sixpence at a small boy, saying,
“If you don’t let me have my own way, Van, I’ll shy my purse after it. What do you mean, sir, by treating me like a beggar?”
“Our friend Harrington can’t humour us,” quoth Raikes. “For myself, I candidly confess I prefer being paid for”; and he leaned contentedly against one of the posts of the inn till the filthy dispute was arranged to the satisfaction of the ignobler mind. There Andrew left them, and went to Mrs. Sockley, who, recovered from her illness, smiled her usual placid welcome to a guest.
“You know me, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes! The London Mr. Cogglesby!”