‘You do not understand,’ continued Mr Finsbury.  ’What I tell you is a scientific fact, and reposes on the theory of the lever, a branch of mechanics.  There are some very interesting little shilling books upon the field of study, which I should think a man in your station would take a pleasure to read.  But I am afraid you have not cultivated the art of observation; at least we have now driven together for some time, and I cannot remember that you have contributed a single fact.  This is a very false principle, my good man.  For instance, I do not know if you observed that (as you passed the hay-cart man) you took your left?’

‘Of course I did,’ cried the carrier, who was now getting belligerent; ‘he’d have the law on me if I hadn’t.’

‘In France, now,’ resumed the old man, ’and also, I believe, in the

United States of America, you would have taken the right.’

‘I would not,’ cried Mr Chandler indignantly.  ’I would have taken the left.’

‘I observe again,’ continued Mr Finsbury, scorning to reply, ’that you mend the dilapidated parts of your harness with string.  I have always protested against this carelessness and slovenliness of the English poor.  In an essay that I once read before an appreciative audience—­’

‘It ain’t string,’ said the carrier sullenly, ‘it’s pack-thread.’

‘I have always protested,’ resumed the old man, ’that in their private and domestic life, as well as in their labouring career, the lower classes of this country are improvident, thriftless, and extravagant.  A stitch in time—­’

‘Who the devil are the lower classes?’ cried the carrier.  ’You are the lower classes yourself!  If I thought you were a blooming aristocrat, I shouldn’t have given you a lift.’

The words were uttered with undisguised ill-feeling; it was plain the pair were not congenial, and further conversation, even to one of Mr Finsbury’s pathetic loquacity, was out of the question.  With an angry gesture, he pulled down the brim of the forage-cap over his eyes, and, producing a notebook and a blue pencil from one of his innermost pockets, soon became absorbed in calculations.

On his part the carrier fell to whistling with fresh zest; and if (now and again) he glanced at the companion of his drive, it was with mingled feelings of triumph and alarm—­triumph because he had succeeded in arresting that prodigy of speech, and alarm lest (by any accident) it should begin again.  Even the shower, which presently overtook and passed them, was endured by both in silence; and it was still in silence that they drove at length into Southampton.

Dusk had fallen; the shop windows glimmered forth into the streets of the old seaport; in private houses lights were kindled for the evening meal; and Mr Finsbury began to think complacently of his night’s lodging.  He put his papers by, cleared his throat, and looked doubtfully at Mr Chandler.