“Ain’t it rayther cold at this eend o’ the booat,” asked Mr. Bumpkin, “I feel a little chilly loike.”
“No,” said the Don, “we just caught the wind at that corner, that was all.”
But Mr. Bumpkin kept his eye on the artful man, with a full determination to “have no truck wi’ un.”
“As I was saying, this Ananias never misses a chance: he’s on the look-out at this moment; if they was to push that gangway against his toe, down he’d go and be laid up with an injured spine and concussion of the brain, till he got damages from the company.”
“Must be a reg’ler rogue, I allows; I should like to push un overboard.”
“Just what he would like; he isn’t born to be drowned, that man; he’d soon have a writ out against you. There was a railway accident once miles away in the country; ever so many people were injured and some of ’em killed. Well, down he goes to see if he could get hold of anybody—no, nobody would have him—so what does he do but bring an action himself.”
“What for?”
“Why, just the same as if he’d been in the accident.”
“Ought to be hanged.”
“Well, the doctors were very pleased to find that no bones were broken, and, although there were no bruises,