n.

The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the

hill.

“So-ho!” the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. “Yo

there! Stand! I shall fire!”

The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and

floundering, a man’s voice called from the mist, “Is that the Dover

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

mail?”

“Never you mind what it is,” the guard retorted. “What are

you?”

“Is that the Dover mail?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want a passenger, if it is.”

“What passenger?”

“Mr. Jarvis Lorry.”

Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his

name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers

eyed him distrustfully.

“Keep where you are,” the guard called to the voice in the mist,

“because, if I should make a mistake, it could never be set right in

your lifetime. Gentleman of the name of Lorry answer straight.”

“What is the matter?” asked the passenger, then, with mildly

quavering speech. “Who wants me? Is it Jerry?”

(“I don’t like Jerry’s voice, if it is Jerry,” growled the guard to

himself. “He’s hoarser than suits me, is Jerry.”)