Two figures were dimly visible in front, sitting with their legs outside the waggon, one of whom was driving. Gabriel soon found that this was the waggoner, and it appeared they had come from Casterbridge fair, like himself.
A conversation was in progress, which continued thus:—
“Be as ’twill, she’s a fine handsome body as far’s looks be concerned. But that’s only the skin of the woman, and these dandy cattle be as proud as a lucifer in their insides.”
“Ay—so ’a do seem, Billy Smallbury—so ’a do seem.” This utterance was very shaky by nature, and more so by circumstance, the jolting of the waggon not being without its effect upon the speaker’s larynx. It came from the man who held the reins.
“She’s a very vain feymell—so ’tis said here and there.”
“Ah, now. If so be ’tis like that, I can’t look her in the face. Lord, no: not I—heh-heh-heh! Such a shy man as I be!”
“Yes—she’s very vain. ’Tis said that every night at going to bed she looks in the glass to put on her night-cap properly.”
“And not a married woman. Oh, the world!”
“And ’a can play the peanner, so ’tis said. Can play so clever that ’a can make a psalm tune sound as well as the merriest loose song a man can wish for.”
“D’ye tell o’t! A happy time for us, and I feel quite a new man! And how do she pay?”