“You see,” said that person, as he took Mr. Sandboys’ purse in his hand, and commenced rolling it backwards and forwards on his knee, “it’s all done by what we call palming. If I intended to deceive you, now is the time I should do it; for while you fancied I was reducing the contents of your purse to the smallest possible compass, I really should be substituting another for it; and then I should proceed to place it all safe for you, thus—”
Here the strange gentleman proceeded to lift up the long-waisted waistcoat of the grateful Mr. Sandboys, and introduced the small red-cotton bag, in which his money was contained, into his fob; after which he gave the purse a peculiar twist round,—for in this, he said, the London rogues made out that the whole virtue consisted. In reality, however, he told him, there was little or nothing at all in it, and it was only upon the very simplest people that the trick was ever attempted to be practised now-a-days.
“Well, I sud say as much, for onie mon cud see through t’ trick wi hawf an eye,” exclaimed the Buttermere philosopher.
“With such a gentleman as yourself, of course, a man would not stand the least chance,” continued the stranger; “especially after all I’ve put you up to; still the trick, common as it is, and extraordinary as I’ve not the least doubt it must strike a man of your discernment that it ever can succeed—still, I say, it has one thing to recommend it, which is, that the fob is perhaps, after all, about the most secure place for keeping one’s money. In crowds or lonely places, nothing is more easy than for one man to pinion the arms behind a gentleman, while another rifles his breeches-pockets; and as for carrying either a purse or a pocket-book in the coat-tails—why you might as well invest it in one of King Hudson’s railways at once! Whereas, in the fob, you see, it takes so long to get at it, that it is not possible to be extracted in that short space of time in which street-robberies require to be executed. So, if you take my advice,—the advice, I think I may say, of a person of no ordinary experience,—you will continue to keep your purse in your fob as I have placed it!”
Mr. Sandboys again expressed his deepest gratitude for all the valuable information he had received, and promised to carry out the injunctions he had given him. If ever the strange gentleman’s business should lead him to visit Cumberland—though, Mr. Cursty said with a half laugh, there weren’t much call for the likes of him in that “wharter of t’ warl”—still, if ever he should be coming towards Buttermere, he could only say there would always be a bed and a dish of sugar’d curds and a hearty welcome for him at Hassness.
The hospitable Cursty had scarcely finished extracting a pledge from the strange gentleman to come and spend a month with him at the earliest opportunity, when the pace of the carriages began to slacken, the panting of the engine ceased, the brake was heard grating on the wheels, sending forth that peculiar odour which invariably precedes the stoppage of all railway-trains. The whistle sounded—and amidst the ringing of bells, the Sandboys and their companion reached the Preston station.
Here the strange gentleman having slipped on again the several articles of disguise with which he had dispensed on entering, shook Mr. and Mrs. Cursty violently by the hands, and promising to call and see them some time or other, he made an extremely low bow to the ladies, and in a few minutes was lost in the crowd.
On his departure the conversation of Mr. and Mrs. Sandboys related solely to the agreeable manner and vast experience of their late companion. Cursty’s enthusiasm knew no bounds. His darling Aggy, however, was a little more circumspect in her praise, and did not hesitate to confess—that there was something about t’ gentleman she didn’t half like—she couldn’t exactly tell what; but there was something so peculiar in his manner, that for her part, she was not quite so much taken with him. He was a very pleasant, agreeable man enough, but still—she could not say why—all she knew was—she did not like him. And then, as the discussion on their late companion’s merits rose rather high, she begged her husband to mark her words, for she felt convinced in her mind—indeed, she had a certain kind of a presentiment—a strange kind of a feeling that she couldn’t describe—and it was no use Cursty’s talking—but her impression was—and she hoped Mr. Sandboys would bear it well in mind—that they should hear of that gentleman again some fine day; and that was all she wished to say about the matter.
With this slight discussion to enliven the tedium of the journey, the distance between Preston and Manchester passed so quickly, that when the collector at the Manchester station called for the tickets, Mr. Sandboys could not help expressing his astonishment at the rapidity of their travelling.
“Now, sir, if you please—quick as you can—show your tickets;—tickets—tickets.”