And the driver, too, thought this was a man one would not be likely to make any mistake about.
"Didn't he generally wear a light morning, coat?"
"What!" I cried; "a light morning-coat? Are you mad? Do you think it is a tea-cup I am inquiring about?" This light morning-coat came most inopportunely; it spoilt the whole man for me such as I had fancied him.
"What was it you said he was called?--Kierulf?"
"Of course," I replied. "Is there anything wonderful in that? The name doesn't disgrace any one."
"Hasn't he red hair?"
Well, it was quite possible that he had red hair, and now that the driver mentioned the matter, I was suddenly convinced that he was right. I felt grateful to the poor driver, and hastened to inform him that he had hit the man off to a T--he really was just as he described him,--and I remarked, in addition, that it would be a phenomenon to see such a man without red hair.
"It must be him I drove a couple of times," said the driver; "he had a knobbed stick."
This brought the man vividly before me, and I said, "Ha, ha! I suppose no one has ever yet seen the man without a knobbed stick in his hand, of that you can be certain, quite certain."
Yes, it was clear that it was the same man he had driven. He recognized him--and he drove so that the horse's shoes struck sparks as they touched the stones.