"We'n better goo round about, Measter," said the driver, to the passenger
at his side. "Summat's afoot down yander."
"You're a wise man, to be sure. Something's afoot, as you truly say. And,
being troubled from my youth up with an inquiring nose, I'll e'en step
forward and smell out the occasion. Do you bide here, my Jehu, till I
come back."
"Why, I will, then, Measter, but my name binna Jehu. 'Tis plain Tummus."
"You don't say so! Now I come to think of it, it suits you better than
Jehu, for the Son of Nimshi drove furiously. Well, Tummus, I will not
keep you long; this troublesome nose of mine, I dare say, will soon be
satisfied."
By this time he had slipped down from his seat, and was walking toward
the throng. Now that he was upon his feet, he showed himself to be more
than common tall, spare and loose jointed. His face was lean and swarthy,
his eyes black and restless; his well-cut lips even now wore the same
smile as when he mischievously misnamed his driver. Though he wore the
usual dress of the Englishman of his day--frock, knee breeches and buckle
shoes, none of them in their first youth--there was a something
outlandish about him, in the bright yellow of his neckcloth and the red
feather stuck at a jaunty angle into the ribbon of his hat; and Tummus,
as he looked curiously after his strange passenger, shook his head and
bit the straw in his mouth, and muttered:
"Ay, it binna on'y the nose, 't binna on'y the nose, with his Jehus an'
such.
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