railway-porters, it _would_ be. However, this man was, after all,
a third-class passenger, so perhaps he was excusable for carrying that
bag.

"I suppose," said he, surrendering his ticket, "it's no part of your
duty to tell a cove where he can get a sleep for half a night. You ain't
paid for it." Whether this was churlishness, or a sort of humour, was
not clear, from the tone.

Sandys, the station-master, one of the most good-humoured of mortals,
preferred the latter interpretation. "It don't add to our salary, but it
ought to. Very obliging we are, in these parts! How much do you look to
pay?"

The man drew from his pocket, presumably, the fund he had to rely upon,
and appeared to count it, with dissatisfaction. "Two and a kick!" said
he. "I'll go to the tizzy, for sheets." This meant he would lay out the
tizzy, or kick, provided that his bed was furnished with sheets. He
added, with a growl, that he was not going to be put off with a
horserug, this time. The adjective he used to qualify the previous rug
showed that his experiences had been peculiar, and disagreeable.

"You might ask at Moore's, along on your left where you see yonder
light. Show your money first, and offer to pay in advance. Cash first,
sleep afterwards. There's someone sitting up, or they wouldn't show a
light.... Here, Tommy, you're going that way. You p'int him out
Moore's." Thus the station-master, who then departed along a gravel
path, through a wicket-gate. It led to his private residence, which was
keeping up its spirits behind a small grove of sunflowers which were not
keeping up theirs. They had been once the admiration of passing trains,
with a bank of greensward below them with "Grantley Thorpe" on it in
flints, in very large caps. and now they were on the brink of their
graves in the earth so chilly, and didn't seem resigned.

Tommy the porter did not relish his companion, evidently, as he walked
on, a pace ahead, along the road that led to the village. He never said
a word, and seemed justified in outstripping that slow, lurching,
indescribable pace, which was not lameness, in order to stimulate it by
example.

"Yarnder's Mower's," said Tommy, nodding towards a small pothouse down a
blind alley. "You wo'ant find nowat to steal there, at Mower's."

"What the Hell do you mean by that?"

"What do I me'an--is that what you're asking?" Raised voice.

"Ah--what do you mean by 'steal'?"

"Just what a sa'ay! What do they me'an in Lo