Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

329
Fourteen porters came out, and each took a package with the greatest civility; calling
Jemmy her ladyship, and me your honor; ay, and your honoring and my ladyshipping even
my man and the maid in the cab. I somehow felt all over quite melancholy at going away.
"Here, my fine fellow," says I to the coachman, who was standing very respectful, holding
his hat in one hand and Jemmy's jewel-case in the other—"Here, my fine chap," says I,
"here's six shillings for you;" for I did not care for the money.
"Six what?" says he.
"Six shillings, fellow," shrieks Jemmy, "and twice as much as your fare."
"Feller, marm!" says this insolent coachman. "Feller yourself, marm: do you think I'm agoing
to kill my horses, and break my precious back, and bust my carriage, and carry you,
and your kids, and your traps for six hog?" And with this the monster dropped his hat, with
my money in it, and doubling his fist put it so very near my nose that I really thought he
would have made it bleed. "My fare's heighteen shillings," says he, "hain't it?—hask hany
of these gentlemen."
"Why, it ain't more than seventeen-and-six," says one of the fourteen porters; "but if the
gen'l'man IS a gen'l'man, he can't give no less than a suffering anyhow."
I wanted to resist, and Jemmy screamed like a Turk; but, "Holloa!" says one. "What's the
row?" says another. "Come, dub up!" roars a third. And I don't mind telling you, in
confidence, that I was so frightened that I took out the sovereign and gave it. My man and
Jemmy's maid had disappeared by this time: they always do when there's a robbery or a row
going on.
I was going after them. "Stop, Mr. Ferguson," pipes a young gentleman of about thirteen,
with a red livery waistcoat that reached to his ankles, and every variety of button, pin,
string, to keep it together. "Stop, Mr. Heff," says he, taking a small pipe out of his mouth,
"and don't forgit the cabman."
"What's your fare, my lad?" says I.
"Why, let's see—yes—ho!—my fare's seven-and-thirty and eightpence eggs—acly."
The fourteen gentlemen holding the luggage, here burst out and laughed very rudely
indeed; and the only person who seemed disappointed was, I thought, the hackneycoachman.
"Why, YOU rascal!" says Jemmy, laying hold of the boy, "do you want more
than the coachman?"