"Are you tired, Imp?" inquired Barnabas, yawning.
"Tired, sir, ho no, sir—not a bit, I ain't."
"But you haven't slept much."
"Slep', sir? I ain't slep'. I only jest 'appened to close me eyes, sir. Ye see, I don't need much sleep, I don't,—four hours is enough for any man,—my pal Nick says so, and Nick knows a precious lot, 'e do."
"Who is Nick?"
"Nick's a cobbler, sir,—boots and shoes,—ladies' and gents', and a very good cobbler 'e is too, although a cripple wiv a game leg. Me and 'im's pals, sir, and though we 'as our little turn-ups 'count of 'im coming it so strong agin the Quality, I'm never very 'ard on 'im 'count of 'is crutch, d'ye see, sir."
"What do you mean by the 'Quality,' Imp?"
"Gentle-folks, sir,—rich folks like you an' m'lud. 'I'd gillertine the lot, if I'd my way,' he says, 'like the Frenchies did in Ninety-three,' 'e says. But 'e wouldn't reelly o'course, for Nick's very tender-hearted, though 'e don't like it known. So we 're pals, we are, and I often drop in to smoke a pipe wiv 'im—"
"What! Do you smoke, Imp?"
"Why, yes, o' course, sir,—all grooms smokes or chews, but I prefers a pipe—allus 'ave, ah! ever since I were a kid. But I mostly only 'as a pipe when I drop in on my pal Nick in Giles's Rents."