"But, sir," he began.
"I want no words from you, sir; you can't drive my horses. Come down instantly."
The discomfited Belknap writhed in his seat, and looked about him helplessly.
Before were the pall-bearers, looking back from their open vehicle, and noting the scene; on the steps, and within easy hearing distance, were gathered the small knot of gentlemen, who, for courtesy's sake, or for policy's sake, had gathered to do honor to Mr. Lamotte, rather than to the poor rosewood shrouded thing that had never a mourner.
He could not explain; he could not make himself known.
"I will have you thrown off that box, sir; if you hesitate ten seconds longer," exclaimed Mr. Lamotte, impatiently, at the same time moving away and beckoning to the driver of the next carriage.
Fate was against him, and muttering curses, "not loud but deep," Jerry Belknap began to clamber reluctantly down.
Seeing this, Mr. Lamotte turned toward the bearer of the mischievous note, who had withdrawn a few paces from the group near the carriage, and beckoned him to approach.
He came forward promptly.
"Can you drive, my man?"