“Bless me,” said the roundhand bowler, “it’s like a crack with a cricket ball.”
But there was no time for further examination of the extraordinary circumstance, for the crowd of passengers poured along and pushed this way and that, so that the two friends were fairly driven to the fore part of the boat, where they took their seats. It was quite a new world to Mr. Bumpkin, and more like a dream than a reality. As he stared at the different buildings he was too much amazed even to enquire what was this or what was that. But when they passed under the Suspension Bridge, and the chimney ducked her head and the smoke
came out of the “stump,” as Mr. Bumpkin termed it, he thought she had struck and broken short off. Mr. O’Rapley explained this phenomenon, as he did many others on their route; and when they came to Cleopatra’s Needle he gave such information as he possessed concerning that ancient work. Mr. Bumpkin looked as though he were not to be taken in.
“I be up to ’ee, sir,” said he. “I s’pose that air thing the t’other side were the needle-case?”
The O’Rapley informed him that it was a shot tower where they made shot.
Mr. Bumpkin laughed heartily at this; he was not to be taken in by any manner of means; was far too sharp for that.
“And I spoase,” said he, “they makes the guns—”
“In Gunnersbury,” said Mr. O’Rapley; it was no use to be serious.
“I thought thee were gwine to say in a gun pit, but I don’t mind thy chaff, Master Rapley, and shall be mighty proud to see thee down at Southood for a day’s shoot-in’: and mind thee bring some o’ these ere shot with thee that be made at yon tower, haw! haw! haw! Thee’ll kill a white-tailed crow then, I shouldn’t wonder; thee knows a white-tailed crow, doan’t thee, Master Rapley, when thee sees un—and danged if I doan’t gie thee a quart bottle o’ pigeon’s milk to tak’ wi’ thee; haw! haw! haw!”
The O’Rapley laughed heartily at these witty sallies, for Bumpkin was so jolly, and took everything in such good part, that he could not but enjoy his somewhat misplaced sarcasms.