ong-footed Wellington boots, with a sort of
Chinese turn up at the toe. "Vich be de Newmarket Voiture?" said he,
repeating the query, as he entered the office and deposited a silk
umbrella, a camlet cloak, and a Swiss knapsack on the counter. The
porter, without any attempt at an answer, took his goods and walked off
to the mail, followed closely by the Baron, and after depositing the
cloak inside, so that the Baron might ride with his "face to the
horses," as the saying is, he turned the knapsack into the hind boot,
and swung himself into the office till it was time to ask for something
for his exertions. Meanwhile the Baron made a tour of the yard, taking
a lesson in English from the lettering on the various coaches, when,
on the hind boot of one, he deciphered the word Cheapside.--"Ah,
Cheapside!" said he, pulling out his dictionary and turning to the
letter C. "Chaste, chat, chaw,--cheap, dat be it. Cheap,--to be had at
a low price--small value. Ah! I hev (have) it," said he, stamping and
knitting his brows, "sacre-e-e-e-e nom de Dieu," and the first word
being drawn out to its usual longitude, three strides brought him and
the conclusion of the oath into the office together. He then opened out
upon the book-keeper, in a tremendous volley of French, English and
Hanoverian oaths, for he was a cross between the first and last named
countries, the purport of which was "dat he had paid de best price,
and he be dem if he vod ride on de Cheapside of de coach." In vain
the clerks and book-keepers tried to convince him he was wrong in his
interpretation. With the full conviction of a foreigner that he was
about to be cheated, he had his cloak shifted to the opposite side of
the coach, and the knapsack placed on the roof. The fourth inside having
cast up, the outside passengers mounted, the insides took their places,
three-pences and sixpences were pulled out for the porters, the guard
twanged his horn, the coachman turned out his elbow, flourished his
whip, caught the point, cried "All right! sit tight!" and trotted out of
the yard.

Jorrocks and the Yorkshireman sat opposite each other, the Baron and old
Sam Spring, the betting man, did likewise. Who doesn't know old Sam,
with his curious tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, his old drab hat
turned up with green, careless neckcloth, flowing robe, and comical cut?
He knew Jorrocks--though--tell it not in Coram Street, he didn't know
his name; but concluded from the disparity of