Well, never mind: they’ll be prettily disappointed: for you know, betwixt you and me and the wall,--Our ivory knives and forks were nothing but bone; and our plate nothing but German silver, after all. What race is to be run next? No more, ma’am: the others were all run afore you come.--Well, then, have the horses put to, Smith: I’ll never come a Derbying again; and let us be off home. Oh, lawk! what a stodge of carriages! I’m sure we shall never get off the course alive!--Oh, dear! do knock that young drunken gentleman off the box: I’m sure he’s not in a fit state to drive. There, I told you how it would be. Oh, law! you’ve broke my arm, and compound-fractured my leg!--Oh! for ’eaven’s sake, lift them two ’orrid osses off my darter! Sir, take your hands out of my pocket-hole, I beg! I say, the next time you crawl out of a coach window, I wish you wouldn’t put your foot on a lady’s chest.--Vell, if ever I seed such a purl as that (and I’ve seed many a good un in my time), I’ll be blest. Oh, dear! going home’s worse than coming! It’s ten to one if ever we get back to Tooley Street alive.--Such jostling, and pushing, and prancing of horses! and always the tipsiest gentleman of every party _will_ drive. I wish I was one of those ladies at the windows; or even one of the servant maids giggling behind the garden walls.--And oh! there’s Kennington turnpike! what shouting and hooting, and blowing those horrid cat-calls! Ticket, sir? got a ticket? No, I’ve lost it. A shilling, then. A shilling! I’ve paid you once to-day.--Oh, yes, I suppose so: the old tale; but it won’t do. That’s what all you sporting gentlemen say. Hinsolent feller! I’ll have you up before your betters. Come, sir, you mustn’t stop up the way. Well, I’ll pay you again; but, oh Lord! somebody’s stole my purse! good gracious, what shall I do!--I suppose I must leave my watch, and call for it to-morrow. Oh, ruination! blow’d if that isn’t gone too! Get on there, will you?--Well, stop a moment. Will anybody lend me a shilling? No? Well, here then, take my hat:--But if I don’t show you up in _Bell’s Life in London_, next Sunday morning, my name’s not Timothy Flat. Well, this is my last journey to Epsom, my last appearance on any course as a backer or hedger:--For I see plain enough a betting-book aint a day-book, and a Derby’s a very different thing from a Ledger. CHAPTER XVI. IN FACTORY AND MINE.