ere do you say this show is?"

"Gor a'mighty bless 'e, sir," the old man whimpered, with a change of
tone. "'Tain't every day poor old Jackie Deeds runs across a rich,
young gentleman as ull give him 'arf a crown. Times is bad, mortal
bad--couldn't be much wuss."

"I'm so sorry," Richard answered. He felt apologetic, as though in some
manner responsible for the decay of the coaching system and his
companion's fallen estate.

"Mortal bad, couldn't be no wuss."

"I'm very sorry. But about the show--where is it please?" the boy asked
again, a little anxious to change the subject.

"Oh! that there show. 'Tain't much of a show neither, by what they
tells me."

Mr. Deeds spoke with sudden irritability. Uplifted by the possession of
a half crown, he became contemptuous of the present, jealous of the
past when such coin was more plentiful with him.

"Not much of a show," he repeated. "The young uns ull crack up most
anything as comes along. But that's their stoopidness. Never zeed
nothing better. Law bless 'e, this ain't a patch on the shows I've a'
zeen in my day. Cock-fightings, and fellows--wi' a lot er money laid on
'em by the gentry too--a-pounding of each other till there weren't an
inch above the belt of 'em as weren't bloody. And the Irish giant, and
dwarfs 'ad over from France. They tell me most Frencheys's made that
way. Ole Boney 'isself wasn't much of a one to look at. And I can mind
a calf wi' two 'eads-'ud eat wi' both mouths at once, and all the food
'ud go down into the same belly. And a man wi' no arms, never 'ad none,
by what they used to tell me----"

"Ah!" Richard exclaimed quickly.

"No, never 'ad none, and yet 'ud play the drum wi' 'is toes and fire
off a horse pistol. Lor, you would 'er laughed to 'av zeen 'im. 'E made
fine sport for the folks 'e did."

Jackie Deeds had recovered his good-humour. He peered up into the boy's
face again maliciously, and broke into cheerless, creaking merriment.

"Gor a'mighty 'as 'is jokes too," he said. "I'm thinking, by the curous
made creeturs 'e sends along sometimes."

"Chifney," Richard called imperatively. "Chifney, are you nearly ready?
We ought to get home. There's a storm coming up."

"Well, we shall get that matter of the saddle done right enough, Sir
Richard," the trainer remarked presently, as the carriage bowled up the
street. "Don't be too free with the whip, sir.--Steady, steady
there.--Mind the donkey-cart.--Bear away to the right. Don't let