Bounder had not as yet become aware of the daily visits of his master to his old workshop. He had been kept in ignorance of the matter merely because there was no special reason why he should be informed. One afternoon, on leaving home, “Cobbler” Horn had left word with Miss Jemima for the coachman to come to the old house, with the dog-cart, at three o’clock. Bounder received the order with a feeling of apathetic wonder as to what new freak he was expected to countenance and aid. At the entrance of the street in which the old house stood, he involuntarily pulled up his horse. Then, with an air of ineffable disdain, he drove slowly on, and proceeded to the number at which he had been directed to call.
Summoning a passing boy, he ordered him to knock at the door. The boy contemplated disobedience; but a glance at Bounder’s whip induced him to change his mind, and he gave the door a sounding rap. The door speedily opened, and Bounder’s master appeared. But such was his disguise that Bounder was necessitated to rub his eyes. Divested of his coat, and enfolded in a leathern apron, “the Golden Shoemaker” stood in the doorway, with bare arms, holding out a pair of newly-mended hob-nailed boots.
“That’s right,” he said; “I’m glad you’re punctual. Will you kindly take these boots to No. 17, Drake Street, round the corner; and then come back here;” and, stepping out upon the pavement, he placed the boots on the vacant cushion of the dog-cart, close to Bounder’s magnificent person.
Bounder touched his hat as usual; but there was an evil fire in his heart, and, as he drove slowly away, a lava-tide of fierce thought coursed through his mind. That he, Bounder, “what had drove real gentlemen and ladies, such as a member of Parliament and a barrow-knight,” should have been ordered to drive home a pair of labourer’s boots! This was “the last straw,” indeed!
Arrived at No. 17, Drake Street, Bounder altogether declined to touch the offending boots. He simply indicated them with his whip to the woman who had come to the door in some surprise, and ignoring her expression of thanks, turned the head of his horse, and drove gloomily away.
That night, “Cobbler” Horn’s outraged coachman sought speech with his master.
“I wish to give you warning, sir,” he said, touching his hat, and speaking in tones of perfect respect.
Bounder’s master started. He had intended to make the best of his coachman.
“Why so, Bounder?” he asked. “Don’t I give you money enough, or what?”
“Oh,” replied Bounder, “the money’s all right; but, to make a clean breast of it, the service ain’t ezactly what I’ve been used to. I ain’t been accustomed to drive about in back streets, and stop at cottages and such; and to take up every tramp as you meets; and to carry labourer’s boots on the seat of the dog-cart.”