'Of course you'll drive,' he remarked to his companion, as he clambered
on the vehicle.
'I drive!' cried Pitman. 'I never did such a thing in my life. I cannot
drive.'
'Very well,' responded Michael with entire composure, 'neither can I
see. But just as you like. Anything to oblige a friend.'
A glimpse of the ostler's darkening countenance decided Pitman. 'All
right,' he said desperately, 'you drive. I'll tell you where to go.'
On Michael in the character of charioteer (since this is not intended
to be a novel of adventure) it would be superfluous to dwell at length.
Pitman, as he sat holding on and gasping counsels, sole witness of this
singular feat, knew not whether most to admire the driver's valour or
his undeserved good fortune. But the latter at least prevailed, the
cart reached Cannon Street without disaster; and Mr Brown's piano was
speedily and cleverly got on board.
'Well, sir,' said the leading porter, smiling as he mentally reckoned up
a handful of loose silver, 'that's a mortal heavy piano.'
'It's the richness of the tone,' returned Michael, as he drove away.
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