F KIRKBY-LONSDALE

I had hitherto conceived and partly carried out an ideal that was dear
to my heart. Rowley and I descended from our claret-coloured chaise, a
couple of correctly-dressed, brisk, bright-eyed young fellows, like a
pair of aristocratic mice; attending singly to our own affairs,
communicating solely with each other, and that with the niceties and
civilities of drill. We would pass through the little crowd before the
door with high-bred preoccupation, inoffensively haughty, after the best
English pattern; and disappear within, followed by the envy and
admiration of the bystanders, a model master and servant, point-device
in every part. It was a heavy thought to me, as we drew up before the
inn at Kirkby-Lonsdale, that this scene was now to be enacted for the
last time. Alas! and had I known it, it was to go off with so inferior a
grace!

I had been injudiciously liberal to the post-boys of the chaise and
four. My own post-boy, he of the patched breeches, now stood before me,
his eyes glittering with greed, his hand advanced. It was plain he
anticipated something extraordinary by way of a _pourboire_; and
considering the marches and counter-marches by which I had extended the
stage, the military character of our affairs with Mr. Bellamy, and the
bad example I had set before him at the Archdeacon's, something
exceptional was certainly to be done. But these are always nice
questions, to a foreigner above all: a shade too little will suggest
niggardliness, a shilling too much smells of hush-money. Fresh from the
scene at the Archdeacon's, and flushed by the idea that I was now
nearly done with the responsibilities of the claret-coloured chaise, I
put into his hands five guineas; and the amount served only to waken his
cupidity.

"O, come, sir, you ain't going to fob me off with this? Why, I seen fire
at your side!" he cried.

It would never do to give him more; I felt I should become the fable of
Kirkby-Lonsdale if I did; and I looked him in the face, sternly but
still smiling, and addressed him with a voice of uncompromising
firmness.

"If you do not like it, give it back," said I.

He pocketed the guineas with the quickness of a conjurer, and, like a
base-born cockney as he was, fell instantly to casting dirt.

"'Ave your own way of it, Mr. Ramornie--leastways Mr. St. Eaves, or
whatever your blessed name may be. Look 'ere"--turning for sympathy to
the stable-boys--"this is a blessed business. Bles