"Hum!" said the fussy gentleman, "still, I'm glad he's hanged."
"Black Dan used to vork the roads south o' London,
"Kent an' Surrey mostly, conseqvent it vere a long time afore 'im an' my feyther met; but at last vun night, as my feyther vos driving along—a good fifteen mile an hour, for it vere a uncommon fine night, vith a moon, like as it might be now—"
"Ah?" said the fussy gentleman.
"An' presently 'e came to vere the road narrered a bit, same as it might be yonder—"
"Ah!" murmured the fussy gentleman again.
"An' vith a clump o' trees beyond, nice, dark, shady trees—like it might be them werry trees ahead of us—"
"Oh!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman.
"An' as 'e come up nearer an' nearer, all at vunce 'e made out a shadder in the shade o' them trees—"
"Dear me!" exclaimed the fussy gentleman uneasily, staring very hard at the trees in front.