While these observations were being exchanged between Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen; and while the boy in the grey livery, marvelling at the unwonted prolongation of the dinner, cast an anxious look, from time to time, towards the glass door, distracted by inward misgivings regarding the amount of minced veal which would be ultimately reserved for his individual cravings; there rolled soberly on through the streets of Bristol, a private fly, painted of a sad green colour, drawn by a chubby sort of brown horse, and driven by a surly-looking man with his legs dressed like the legs of a groom, and his body attired in the coat of a coachman. Such appearances are common to many vehicles belonging to, and maintained by, old ladies of economic habits; and in this vehicle, sat an old lady who was its mistress and proprietor.
"Martin!" said the old lady, calling to the surly man, out of the front window.
"Well?" said the surly man, touching his hat to the old lady.
"Mr. Sawyer's," said the old lady.
"I was going there," said the surly man.
The old lady nodded the satisfaction which this proof of the surly man's foresight imparted to her feelings; and the surly man giving a smart lash to the chubby horse, they all repaired to Mr. Bob Sawyer's together.
"Martin!" said the old lady, when the fly stopped at the door of Mr. Robert Sawyer late Nockemorf.
"Well?" said Martin.
"Ask the lad to step out, and mind the horse."
"I'm going to mind the horse myself," said Martin, laying his whip on the roof of the fly.
"I can't permit it, on any account," said the old lady; "your testimony will be very important, and I must take you into the house with me. You must not stir from my side during the whole interview. Do you hear?"
"I hear," replied Martin.
