Mr Blake, the shopman, came to the shop-door as they passed, and bowed and smiled; and the boy put himself in the way, with a broad grin: and then the party walked on quickly.
The sun seemed to Hugh to glare very much; and he thought he had never known the streets so noisy, or the people so pushing. The truth was, his heart was beating so he could scarcely see: and yet he was so busy looking about him for a sight of the river, and everything he wished to bid good-bye to, that his father, who held him fast by the hand, shook him more than once, and told him he would run everybody down if he could,—to judge by his way of walking. He must learn to march better, if he was to be a soldier; and to steer, if he was to be a sailor.
There were just two minutes to spare when they reached the inn-yard. The horses were pawing and fidgeting, and some of the passengers had mounted: so Mr Proctor said he would seat the boy at once. He spoke to two men who were on the roof, just behind the coachman; and they agreed to let Hugh sit between them, on the assurance that the driver would look to his concerns, and see that he was set down at the right place.
“Now, my boy, up with you!” said his father, as he turned from speaking to these men. Hugh was so eager, that he put up his foot to mount, without remembering to bid his mother and sisters good-bye. Mr Proctor laughed at this; and nobody wondered; but Agnes cried bitterly; and she could not forget it, from that time till she saw her brother again. When they had all kissed him, and his mother’s earnest look had bidden him remember what had passed between them that morning, he was lifted up by his father, and received by the two men, between whom he found a safe seat.
Then he wished they were off. It was uncomfortable to see his sisters crying there, and not to be able to cry too, or to speak to them. When the coachman was drawing on his second glove, and the ostlers held each a hand to pull off the horse-cloths, and the last moment was come, Mr Proctor swung himself up by the step, to say one thing more. It was—
“I say, Hugh,—can you tell me,—how much is four times seven?”
Mrs Proctor pulled her husband’s coat-tail, and he leaped down, the horses’ feet scrambled, their heads issued from the gateway of the inn-yard, and Hugh’s family were left behind. In the midst of the noise, the man on Hugh’s right-hand said to the one on his left,—
“There is some joke in that last remark, I imagine.”
The other man nodded; and then there was no more speaking till they were off the stones. When the clatter was over, and the coach began to roll along the smooth road, Hugh’s neighbour repeated,—
“There was some joke, I fancy, in that last remark of your father’s.”