THE DOVER ROAD 237 



the near leader, much given it will be remembered to 

 shaking its head and everything upon it, as it were 

 denying that the coach could be got up the hill at all. 

 The passengers wrapped up in rugs and in a mortal 

 distrust of each other, trudge through the slush by the 

 coach's side — Mr. Jarvis Lorry, of Telson's bank, among 

 them. A steaming mist rises out of all the hollows ; 

 the hour is " ten minutes, good, past Eleven " — learning 

 which the coachman remarks, " My blood ! " and then, 

 " Tst ! Yah ! Get on with you ! " The last burst carries 

 the Mail to the top of the Hill. Then comes some dia- 

 logue often heard on the old coaching roads when George 

 the Third was king. The passengers are in the act of 

 re-entering the coach. 



" ' Tst ! Joe ! ' cried the coachman in a warning voice, 

 looking down from his box. 



" What do- you say, Tom .'' ' 



" They both listened. 



" ' I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe.' 



" ' I say a horse at a gallop, Tom,' returned the guard, 

 leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to 

 his seat. ' Gentlemen, in the king's name all of you.' 

 With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, 

 and stood on the defensive." 



Then to the Dover Mail as it stood on the top of Shooter s 

 Hill entered Mr. Jerry Cruncher ; remarkable for his 

 leaning towards pursuits of an agricultural character, 

 carried on in churchyards at one in the morning with the 

 assistance of a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope 

 and chain, and other fishing tackle of that nature ; re- 

 markable also, on his domestic side, for a wife much 

 given to flopping herself down and praying that the 

 bread and butter might be snatched out of the mouth of 

 her only child. Mr. Cruncher was not on a body-snatch- 

 ing expedition on this occasion however ; though Mr. 

 Lorry's answer " Recalled to life " — a verbal answer to 

 the letter of which Jerry was bearer — struck him as 

 ominous decidedly. 



