“Well, I don’t care!” said Mr. Harkins, snappishly. “Do you s’pose, Mr. Toosypegs, I have nothing to do but buy waggins to kerry sich lumber as that ’ere? I won’t do it for no one. Likely as not she’s nothin’ but a gipsy, or something as bad. This ’ere waggin ain’t goin’ to be perluted with no sich trash.”
“Mr. Harkins,” said Mr. Toosypegs, briskly, thrusting his hand into his pocket, “what will you take and bring her to London?”
“Hey? ‘A fool and his money’—hum! What’ll you give?”
“There’s a crown.”
“Done!” said Mr. Harkins, closing his digits on the coin, while his little eyes snapped. “Hullo! you, woman!” he shouted, rising his voice.
The gipsy—who, though but a yard or so ahead, was indistinguishable in the darkness—sped on without paying the slightest attention to his call.
“Hallo, there! Hallo!” again called Mr. Harkins, while Mr. Toosypegs followed him:
“Stop a moment, if you please, madam.”
But neither for the sharp, surly order of the driver, nor the bland, courteous request of Mr. Toosypegs, did the woman stop. Casting a brief, fleeting glance over her shoulder, she again flitted on.
“You confounded old witch! Stop and take a ride to town—will you?” yelled the polite and agreeable Mr. Harkins, holding up a dark lantern and reining in his horse by the woman’s side.