Until day broke did this persecuted man toil painfully along with the chair, and the sun rose and found him sitting carefully in the middle of the road, faintly anathematizing Captain Gething and everything connected with him. He was startled by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching him, and, being unable to turn his head, he rose painfully to his feet and faced about bodily.
The new-comer stopped abruptly, and, gazing in astonishment at the extraordinary combination of man and chair before him, retired a few paces in disorder. At a little distance he had mistaken the cook for a lover of nature, communing with it at his ease; now he was undecided whether it was a monstrosity or an apparition.
“Mornin’, mate,” said the cook in a weary voice.
“Morning,” said the man, backing still more.
“I ’spose,” said the cook, trying to smile cheerfully, “you’re surprised to see me like this?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it afore,” said the man guardedly.
“I don’t s’pose you ’ave,” said the cook. “I’m the only man in England that can do it.”
The man said he could quite believe it.
“I’m doin’ it for a bet,” said the cook.
“Oh-h,” said the man, his countenance clearing, “a bet. I thought you were mad. How much is it?”