“Our intention is to labour,” said Arthur, unaffectedly.
“Ah! you have the stuff in you to command success,” said the gentleman. “But I must request you to accompany me for a short distance, as my daughter prefers walking; and if I once lose sight of you in this straggling city, I may not easily find you again.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Arthur; “we have our luggage with us, and must go to an inn; but if you will favour me with your address, we will call on you before we leave Sydney.”
While they were speaking, the coachman, in consequence of whose carelessness in letting go their heads the horses had run away, came up, and released James and Sam. Not a word of scolding was uttered—the gentleman thought a moment.
“Here, Sykes, lift that luggage into the carriage, and drive these young gentleman home; leave them there, and come back for Miss Fanny and me to the club.”
In vain the young Gilpins expostulated.
“I am a determined person, and will have it so,” said the gentleman.
Before they looked round, Sam had stowed away their luggage in the carriage, greatly to the disappointment of the bully, who had, it seemed, been watching for an opportunity to make off with a portion. The stranger then, almost against their will, forced them into it; and writing a few lines on the leaf of a pocket-book, gave it to the coachman. “Come, my friend, you must go in also,” he added, taking Sam by the arm.
Sam drew back, and, touching his hat, exclaimed, “Noa, sir—noa, thank ye. It ’ud ne’er do for me to ride wi’ the young squires; I know my place better nor that.”
A mob such as Sydney, of all British ports, perhaps, can alone produce, had by this time collected round the carriage. Sam’s remark produced a loud guffaw laugh from among them, and a variety of observations came rattling down on him, such as “Go it, young Touch-my-hat; the nob will pay you—he’s a nigger with a white face. I wonder where he was raised? His mother was a dancing mistress—little doubt of that.”