“I know that,” said John piteously.
And here the porter recovered the dignity of man.
“Thank you, sir,” said he, and would have returned the base gratuity. But John, too, would none of it; and as they struggled, who must join in but the cabman?
“Hoots, Mr. Baigrey,” said he, “you surely forget what day it is!”
“I tell you I have no change!” cried John.
“Well,” said the driver, “and what then? I would rather give a man a shillin’ on a day like this than put him off with a derision like a bawbee. I’m surprised at the like of you, Mr. Baigrey!”
“My name is not Baigrey!” broke out John, in mere childish temper and distress.
“Ye told me it was yoursel’,” said the cabman.
“I know I did; and what the devil right had you to ask?” cried the unhappy one.
“O very well,” said the driver. “I know my place, if you know yours—if you know yours!” he repeated, as one who should imply grave doubts; and muttered inarticulate thunders, in which the grand old name of gentleman was taken seemingly in vain.