' 'What! be thee parson Davis's son?' says the old boy.
'Yes,' says the young un. 'Well, I be mortal sorry to meet thee in such
company; but for thy father's sake and thine (for thee bist a brave
young chap) I'll say no more about it.' Didn't the boys cheer him, and
the mob cheered the young chap; and then one of the biggest gets down,
and begs his pardon werry gentlemanly for all the rest, saying as they
all had been plaguy vexed from the first, but didn't like to ax his
pardon till then, 'cause they felt they hadn't ought to shirk the
consequences of their joke. And then they all got down, and shook hands
with the old boy, and asked him to all parts of the country, to their
homes; and we drives off twenty minutes behind time, with cheering and
hollering as if we was county 'members. But, Lor' bless you, sir," says
the guard, smacking his hand down on his knee and looking full into
Tom's face, "ten minutes arter they was all as bad as ever."
Tom showed such undisguised and open-mouthed interest in his narrations
that the old guard rubbed up his memory, and launched out into a graphic
history of all the performances of the boys on the roads for the last
twenty years. Off the road he couldn't go; the exploit must have been
connected with horses or vehicles to hang in the old fellow's head. Tom
tried him off his own ground once or twice, but found he knew nothing
beyond, and so let him have his head, and the rest of the road bowled
easily away; for old Blow-hard (as the boys called him) was a dry old
file, with much kindness and humour, and a capital spinner of a yarn
when he had broken the neck of his day's work, and got plenty of ale
under his belt.
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