But he had no doubt in his own mind that his sickness would end fatally, and he asked to see the landlady of the inn.
“Beg pardon, ma’am!” he said from his bed, touching his forelock, “very sorry I han’t shaved for two days and you should see me thus. But please, ma’am, if it’s no offence, be you wantin’ that there yellow jacket any more? It seems to me post-boys is gone out altogether.”
“No, George, I certainly do not want it.”
“Nor these?—you’ll understand me, ma’am, if I don’t mention ’em.”
“No, George; what can you require them for?”
“Nor that there old white beaver? I did my best, but it is a bit rubbed.”
“I certainly do not need it.”
“Thank y’, ma’am, then I make so bold might I be buried in ’em as the last of the old post-boys?”