86 ANNALS OF THE ROAD. 



arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws 

 down the reins with something of an air, and abandons 

 the cattle to the care of the hostler, his duty being merely 

 to drive from one stage to another. When off the box 

 his hands are thrust in the pockets of his great coat, and 

 he rolls about the inn yard with an air of the most abso- 

 lute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded with an 

 admiring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoe-blacks, and 

 those nameless hangers-on, that infest inns and taverns, 

 and run errands and do all kinds of odd jobs, for the 

 privilege of fattening on the drippings of the kitchen and 

 the leakage of the tap-room. These all look up to him 

 as an oracle, treasure up his cant phrases, echo his 

 opinions about horses and other topics of jockey lore, 

 and, above all, endeavour to imitate his air and carriage. 

 Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back, thrusts his 

 hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is 

 an embryo coachey.' 



