“You’ll have to mount me, then, Pelham,” put in Captain Heron.
“Mount you with pleasure, my dear fellow.”
“Own pops?” said Mr Hawkins. “Us bridle culls don’t use them little pops all over wedge, your honour.”
The Viscount glanced down at his pistol. “What’s wrong with it? Devilish good pistol. Gave a hundred guineas for the pair.”
Mr Hawkins pointed a grimy finger at the silver mountings. “All that wedge. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
“Oh, very well,” said the Viscount. “But I like my own pistols, you know. Now where do we get these coats and mufflers?”
“You know the Half-Way House?” said Mr Hawkins. “That’s where I’ll be. There’s a flash ken thereabouts, where I keeps my nag. I’ll be off there now, and when you comes, why dang me if I don’t have the toges and tyes ready for you!”
“And how do I know you will be there?” said the Viscount.
“Because I wants twenty guineas,” replied Mr Hawkins logically. “And because I wants to get my hands on that boman prig. That’s how.”