'You don't know Bill.
Why, it's what he'd arsk for!' So there we carried him, and I sent for the undertaker same time as the doctor, and ordered it of oak; and next morning, down I tramped to Dock and chose out a grave, brick-lined, having heard him say often, 'Plymouth folk for wasting, but Dock folk for lasting.' I won't say but what, between whiles, we've been pretty lively at Symonds's; and I won't say--Hallo! Here's more luck! Your servant, sir!" He stepped forward--leaving me shielded and half hidden by the coach door--and accosted a stranger walking briskly up the pavement towards us with a small valise in his hand; a gentlemanly person of about thirty-five or forty, in clerical suit and bands.
"Eh?
Good-morning!" nodded the clergyman affably.
"Might I arsk where you're bound ?" Then, after a pause, "My name's Jope, sir; Benjamin Jope, of the _Bedford_, seventy-four, bo'sun's mate--now paid off." The clergyman, at first taken aback by the sudden question, recovered his smile.

"And mine, sir, is Whitmore--the Reverend John Whitmore-- bound just now in the direction of Dock.

Can I serve you thereabouts ?" Mr.Jope waved his hand towards the coach door.

"Jump inside! Oh, you needn't be ashamed to ride behind Bill!" "But who is Bill ?" The Rev.

Mr.Whitmore advanced to the coach door like a man in two minds.