Presently, as we seemed to be nearing the town, I ventured to inquire, “I say, do you know Jack Smith at Packworth?”
The Jehu laughed.
“Know him—old Jack Smith? Should think I do.”
“You do?” cried I, delighted, springing to my feet and knocking over a whole pyramid of loaves. “Oh, I am glad. It’s him I want to see.”
“Is it now?” said the fellow, “and what little game have you got on with him? Going a grave-diggin’, eh?”
“Grave-digging, no!” I cried. “Jack Smith and I were at school together—”
The driver interrupted me with a loud laugh.
“Oh, my eye, that’s a good ’un; you at school with old Jack Smith! Oh, that’ll do, that’ll do!” and he roared with laughter.
“But I really was,” repeated I, “at Stonebridge House.”
“You was? How long before you was born was it; oh my eye, eh?”