"Here, my fine fellow," says I to the coachman, who was standing very respectful, holding his hat in one hand and Jemmy's jewel-case in the other--"Here, my fine chap," says I, "here's six shillings for you;" for I did not care for the money.
"Six what ?" says he.
"Six shillings, fellow," shrieks Jemmy, "and twice as much as your fare." "Feller, marm!" says this insolent coachman.

"Feller yourself, marm: do you think I'm a-going to kill my horses, and break my precious back, and bust my carriage, and carry you, and your kids, and your traps for six hog ?" And with this the monster dropped his hat, with my money in it, and doubling his fist put it so very near my nose that I really thought he would have made it bleed.

"My fare's heighteen shillings," says he, "hain't it ?--hask hany of these gentlemen." "Why, it ain't more than seventeen-and-six," says one of the fourteen porters; "but if the gen'l'man IS a gen'l'man, he can't give no less than a suffering anyhow." I wanted to resist, and Jemmy screamed like a Turk; but, "Holloa!" says one.

"What's the row ?" says another.

"Come, dub up!" roars a third.