IN WHICH I HEAR NEWS OF SIR MAURICE VIBART

“Which I says—­Lord love me!”

I plunged the iron back into the fire, and, turning my head, espied a figure standing in the doorway; and, though the leather hat and short, round jacket had been superseded by a smart groom’s livery, I recognized the Postilion.

“So ‘elp me, Bob, if this ain’t a piece o’ luck!” he exclaimed, and, with the words, he removed his hat and fell to combing his short, thick hair with the handle of his whip.

“I’m glad you think so,” said I.

“You can drownd me if it ain’t!” said he.

“And, pray, how is the gentleman who—­happened to fall and hurt himself, if you remember—­in the storm?”

“‘Appened to fall an’ ’urt ’isself?” repeated the Postilion, winking knowingly, “’urt ‘isself,’ says you ‘Walker!’ says I, ‘Walker!’” with which he laid his forefinger against the side of his nose and winked again.

“What might you be pleased to mean?”

“I means as a gent ‘appenin’ to fall in the dark may p’r’aps cut ’is ’ead open—­but ’e don’t give ’isself two black eyes, a bloody nose, a split lip, an’ three broken ribs, all at once—­it ain’t nat’ral, w’ich if you says contrairy, I remarks—­’Walker!’ Lord!” continued the Postilion, seeing I did not speak, “Lord! it must ‘a’ been a pretty warm go while it lasted—­you put ’im to sleep sound enough; it took me over a hour to Tonbridge, an’ ’e never moved till ’e’d been put to bed at ‘The Chequers’ an’ a doctor sent for.  Ah! an’ a nice time I ‘ad of it, what wi’ chamber-maids a-runnin’ up an’ down stairs to see the ‘poor gentleman,’ an’ everybody a-starin’ at me, an’ a-shakin’ their ‘eads, an’ all a-axin’ questions, one atop o’ the other, till the doctor come.  “Ow did this ‘appen, me man?’ says ’e.  ‘A haccident!’ says I.  ‘A haccident?’ says the doctor, wi’ a look in ’is eye as I didn’t just like.  ‘Ah!’ says I, ’fell on ’is ‘ead—­out o’ the chaise,’ says I, ‘struck a stone, or summ’at,’ says I.  ’Did ’e fall of ‘is own accord?’ says the doctor.  ‘Ah, for sure!’ says I.  ‘Humph!’ says the doctor, ‘what wi’ ‘is eyes, an’ ‘is nose, an’ ’is lip, looks to me as if some one ’ad ’elped ‘im.’  ’Then you must be a dam’ fool!’ says a voice, an’ there’s my gentleman —­Number One, you know, a-sittin’ up in bed an’ doin’ ’is ’ardest to frown.  ‘Sir?’ says the doctor.  ‘Sir! to you,’ says my gentleman, ’this honest fellow tells the truth.  I did fall out o’ the accursed chaise—­an’ be damned to you!’ says ’e.  ’Don’t excite yourself,’ says the doctor; ’in your present condition it would be dangerous.’  ‘Then be so good as to go to the devil!’ says my gentleman.  ‘I will!’ says the doctor, an’ off ’e goes.  ‘Hi, there, you,’ says my gentleman, callin’ to me as soon as we were alone, ’this accursed business ’as played the devil with me, an’ I need a servant.  ‘Ow much do you want to stay wi’ me?’ ‘Twenty-five shillin’ a week,’ says I, doin’ myself proud while