THE WALHAM WAG. 523 



' Tellee what it is,' said Mr. Coggan, ' clo all in the power of man, 

 and sometimes birds will fail as well as coachmasters. Now there's 

 my stock they don't half get on not as I could wish ; can't tell 

 how it is but they're overrun with vermin.' ' That's odd too., sir/ 

 says I, ' for no fowls' heads can be better combed.' This innocent 

 obserwation o' mine got me a dig in the ribs on one side from Mr. 

 Coggan, and a ditto ditto on t'other from Mr. Blanch, and away 

 they went, quite ungentlemanly, laughing at me like Winkin." 



" Who was Winkin, Jem ?" 



" A printer's apprentice, what run away with little ' Gin and 

 Bitters,' Mother Waterton's barmaid at the Red Cow, and hung 

 himself two days arter, because her breath always smelt of pump 

 water. There goes Miss Evelina Develina Thingumbob the female 

 swell she's cut me for a downright good honest hagshun. In course, 

 sir, you can't be so hignorunt as not to know that bustle is tin, which 

 means money. Very well. One day I sets her down at the bottom 

 of Bond-street, and arter she'd paid me while I was putting up the 

 the steps I sees a farthing on the flags ; so thinking in course it was 

 her property, I runs arter her, calling out, ' Hollo ma'am you've 

 dropped your bustle !' Wi' that she puts down one hand just under her 

 waist in front, and t'other like lightning just under her waist behind, 

 where in some out-and-out swell ladies, there's an opening to the 

 pocket, which, what with nutmegs, nutmeg graters, the cupboard 

 keys, and so forth, makes them stick out so in that department. 

 ' Good God' says she, ' my bustle !' and she'd have fainted if I 

 hadn't shewed her the farthing. You'd hardly believe it, may be, 

 but as sure as I'm here sitting, she slapped my face and won't never 

 ride wi' me since. Now there's a gentleman at that bow-window 

 lie in the green coat, with the smutty mug what looks as though 

 he'd rubbed his face again a nigger we calls him Dr. Tarpaulin " 



"Why?" 



" I suppose, because he's the biggest liar going : he'll make you 

 believe the most unbelievable thing whatsomever and then laugh 

 at you for believing it. He always rides with me. Tellee why 

 though I don't see no reason in it. There was a bit of a heifer a 

 poor stinted thing a downright calf to all appearance, met with a 

 misfortune on Barnes' Common she fell down a quarry and died. 

 Nobody owned her : so Dr. Tarpaulin had her lugged up to his shop 

 he's wetinary surgeon to make into a skeleton. While he was 

 a opening her, I popped in with a horse what had got the grease my 

 fellow servant had basted him so, and by jingo, the poor little 

 hannimal proved to be in calf. ' Why she ; s nothing but a calf 

 herself,' says Dr. Tarpaulin. ' Well,' says I, putting in my spoke, 

 ' I've often heard of such a thing before, but this is the wery first 

 time ever I saw a weal within a meal.' ' Jem,' says he, ' that's a good 

 un !' and he's rid with me regular ever since because o' that common 

 obserwation, which he must have heard ten thousand times afore/' 



" Allow me to tell you it was a joke, Jem." 



" No such thing, sir, axing your pardon : this is a joke as you 

 shall see. There's Mr. Burchell's man, and Colonel MacLeod's man 

 both blackeymoors standing at their masters' garden gates, and 



