“I wish, Joe,” said I, “you wouldn’t talk as if it was all quite certain; it makes me feel uncomfortable. Your sister mayn’t like me, after all.”
“Makes no odds at all,” said he; “if she don’t have you, there’ll be some other chap on in no time. Once a young gal gets a follower it’s all over, so fur as I see; though ’tisn’t always the first as they takes up with as they sticks to for better for worse.”
“Thank you for nothing, Master Joe,” said I to myself; and I smoked away opposite him for some time without saying a word, thinking what a queer fellow he was, and how I had better let things rest as they were, for I couldn’t see how to handle him the least bit in the world; and I can’t tell whether I was most glad or sorry, when we heard the fogger come to the kitchen door to say the trap was all ready.
Joe knocked the ashes out of his last pipe, took off the last drop out of his tumbler, and then put out his hand and gave me one of his grips.
“It’s got to be done,” said he, “there’s no mistake about that.”
“What?” said I, “what’s to be done? Don’t look so solemn, Joe, for goodness’ sake.”
“It’s no laughing matter, mind you,” said he; and he took the candle and went off into the passage, and came back with his whip and two top-coats. “Here, you get into that,” he went on, handing me one of them; “you’ll find the night rawish.”
I buttoned myself into the coat, which was a white drab one, about as thick as a deal board, with double seams and mother-of-pearl buttons as big as cheese-plates, and followed Joe into the yard with a heavy heart.
“Carpet-bag and hamper in?” said he, taking the reins.
“Ees, Sir, all right.”