“I’m afraid, Mr. Bounder,” said “Cobbler” Horn, with a broad smile, “that I’ve hurt your dignity.”
“Well, as to that, sir,” said the coachman, uneasily, “all as I wishes to say is that I’ve been used to a ’igh class service; and I took this place under a mis-happrehension.”
“Very well, Bounder,” rejoined “Cobbler” Horn, more gravely, “then we had better part. For I can’t promise you any different class of service, seeing it is my intention to use my carriages quite as much for the benefit of other people as for my own; and it is not at all likely that I shall drive about much amongst fashionable folks. When do you wish to go, Mr. Bounder?”
This was business-like indeed. Bounder was in no haste to reply.
“Because,” resumed his master, “I will release you next week, if you wish.”
“Well, sir,” replied Bounder slowly, “I shouldn’t wish to go under the month.”
“Very well. But, you must know, Bounder, that I have no fault to find with you. It’s you who have given me notice, you know.”
Bounder drew himself up to his full height. “Fault to find” with him! The mere suggestion was an insult. But Bounder put it into his pocket.
“If you are in want of a character, now,” resumed “Cobbler” Horn, “I shall——”
“Thank you, sir,” interposed Bounder with hauteur, “I am provided as to that. There’s more than one gentleman who will speak for me,” and Bounder faced about, and marched away with his nose turned towards the stars.