"
And with this a dead silence fell between the two. The old man shifted
his weight from one foot to another, and twice cleared his throat. The
young counter-jumper averted his eyes from his father's quivering lip
to stare up the platform. The minutes ran on.
At last the old man found his voice--
"Thic' there's a stubbard apple you've got in your hand."
"Take your seats, please!"
The guard held the door while they shook hands again. "Charley" leaned
out at the window as our train began to move.
"Her comes from the zeccond 'spalier past the inyon-bed; al'ays the
vurst to raipen, thic' there tree."
The old fellow broke into something resembling a run as he followed
our carriage to shout--
"Turble bad zayson vur zaider!"
With that he halted at the end of the platform, and watched us out of
sight. His son flung himself on the seat with--I could have kicked him
for it--a deprecatory titter. Then he drew a long breath; but it was
twenty minutes before his blush faded, and he regained confidence to
ask me for another light.
Just eighteen months after I was travelling up to London in the Zulu
express.
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