I was yet busied on this perplexing problem when I espied a
pleasant-faced fellow leaning over a gate; him I accosted thus:
"Sir, I am a stranger hereabouts and should esteem it a kindness if
you would direct me to Tonbridge." The man stared, open-mouthed, and
hardly had I finished speaking than he threw back his head and laughed
loudly.
"Sir, why do you laugh?" I demanded, a little stiffly.
"Good lad!" he grinned. "Ye be a play-actor, for sure?"
"Certainly I am--not! Pray how may I get to Tonbridge?"
"Why, like Gammer Perkins' old sow," he grinned, "one leg afore t'
other! I bean't sich a green 'un as ye think."
"Thank you for nothing!" said I sharply.
"Oh, ye can't make a fule of I!" quoth he, grinning.
"No," I retorted, "Nature has done so already!"
This seemed to tickle him mightily for some reason.
"By gum, but you be a rare un, ecod!" he cried, slapping his leg.
"Gi'e us some more, lad--I'd rayther laugh than eat any day--sing us a
song--step us a jig, will 'ee? Come, I don't mind payin' for 't. I du
love a good laugh an' I'll pay. I don't mind spendin' a penny--no b'
gum, 'ere's a groat--there y' are! Now tip us a song or jig--come!"
Saying which, he tossed the four-penny piece into the road at my feet.
Now at this I grew angry beyond words, but he was a large man, so I
turned on indignant heel and left him leaning over the gate to stare
from me to the despised coin and back again in open-mouthed
wonderment.
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