“Only three shillings!” I repeated, and added “eh?”
“That’s all, sir—distance is short you know.”
“Do you mean to say,” said I, “that you really mean to charge—”
“Just three bob,” interrupting me; “flag’s up—can see for yourself, sir.”
“The flag, you see—I mean my good man—don’t tell me about a flag, I’m too far north for you;” and I tried to look as northish as possible.
“Flag, indeed! humph!”
“Why, sir,” said the man of oars, with a pitying expression of countenance and voice, “flag means double fare—anybody’ll tell you that, sir.”
“Nonsense?” said I; “don’t tell me that any one takes the trouble of hoisting a flag in order to fill your confounded pockets; there is half a crown, and not a penny more do you get from me.”
“Well, sir, o’ condition you has me again, sir, you know, sir,—and my name’s McDonald;” and he pocketed the money, which I afterwards discovered was a leetle too much. “McDonald,” thought I—“my grandmother’s name; the rascal thinks to come round me by calling himself a Scotchman—the idea of a McDonald being a waterman!”
“Sir,” said I, aloud, “it is my unbiassed opinion and firm conviction that you are—” I was going to add “a most unmitigated blackguard,” but I noticed that he was a man of six feet two, with breadth in proportion, so I left the sentence unfinished.