"Most unquestionably; he will pass us in a few seconds."
"I'll tell you what, Joe, I'll bet you a guinea he does not," said the friend.
"Nonsense!"
"Well, will you take it?"
"No, no; it would be robbing you."
"Oh, leave me to judge about that," said the friend; "I shall not consider it a robbery: and, so far from that, I'm willing to make the bet more in your favour.—Come, I'll bet you a guinea, Joe, that that man don't pass our chaise between this and Dartford."
"Done!" said Grimaldi, well knowing that, unless some sudden and most unaccountable change took place in the pace at which the man was riding, he must pass in a minute or two—"done!"
"Very good," said the other.—"Stop—I forgot: remember that if you laugh or smile, so that he can see you, between this and Dartford, you will have lost. Is that agreed?"
"Oh, certainly," replied Grimaldi, very much interested to know by what mode his friend proposed to win the wager,—"certainly."
He did not remain very long in expectation: the horseman drew nearer and nearer, and the noise of his horse's feet was heard close behind the chaise, when the friend, pulling a pistol from his pocket, suddenly thrust his head and shoulders out of the window and presented the pistol full at the face of the unconscious countryman, assuming at the same time a ferocious countenance and menacing air which were perfectly alarming. Grimaldi was looking through the little window at the back of the chaise, and was like to die with laughter when he witnessed the effect produced by this singular apparition.