Anne,' said
Rowley. 'It weren't my fault this time.'
'It was one of those accidents that can never be foreseen,' said I,
affecting a dignity that I was far from feeling. 'Some one
recognised me.'
'Which on 'em, Mr. Anne?' said the rascal.
'That is a senseless question; it can make no difference who it
was,' I returned.
'No, nor that it can't!' cried Rowley. 'I say, Mr. Anne, sir, it's
what you would call a jolly mess, ain't it? looks like "clean
bowled-out in the middle stump," don't it?'
'I fail to understand you, Rowley.'
'Well, what I mean is, what are we to do about this one?' pointing
to the postillion in front of us, as he alternately hid and
revealed his patched breeches to the trot of his horse. 'He see
you get in this morning under Mr. Ramornie--I was very piticular to
Mr. Ramornie you, if you remember, sir--and he see you get in again
under Mr. Saint Eaves, and whatever's he going to see you get out
under? that's what worries me, sir. It don't seem to me like as if
the position was what you call stratetegic!'
'Parrrbleu! will you let me be!' I cried. 'I have to think; you
cannot imagine how your constant idiotic prattle annoys me.'
'Beg pardon, Mr. Anne,' said he; and the next moment, 'You wouldn't
like for us to do our French now, would you, Mr.
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