"By gum, but you be a rare un, ecod!" he cried, slapping his leg. "Gi'e us some more, lad--I'd rayther laugh than eat any day--sing us a song--step us a jig, will 'ee? Come, I don't mind payin' for 't. I du love a good laugh an' I'll pay. I don't mind spendin' a penny--no b' gum, 'ere's a groat--there y' are! Now tip us a song or jig--come!" Saying which, he tossed the four-penny piece into the road at my feet. Now at this I grew angry beyond words, but he was a large man, so I turned on indignant heel and left him leaning over the gate to stare from me to the despised coin and back again in open-mouthed wonderment. And now, as I trudged on, my mind was exercised on the question as to whether this part of the world was peopled only by ill-tempered bullies, surly wretches, or bovine fools. So came I to a place where the ways divided and I was deliberating which to follow when I heard a shrill whistling and glancing about, beheld a large woman who talked very fast and angrily to a small man, who whistled extremely loud and shrill, heeding her not in the least. Being come to where I stood, the man paused and stopped his whistling. "O laddie," quoth he, jerking grimy thumb at his companion, "will ye 'ark to this brimstone witch--been clackin' away all along from Sevenoaks, she 'ave! Gimme a tanner an' she's yourn--say thrippence--say a penny!" At this the woman started to berate him again and he to whistling. "Pardon me," said I, when at last I might make myself heard, "will you be so obliging as to tell me the way to Tonbridge?" "Look at 'im, Neddy, look at 'im!" cried the virago, stabbing bony finger at me. "Tell 'im t' close 'is trap or it's twist 'is yeres I will. Tell 'im 'e can't make fun o' we--" "Make fun of you!" exclaimed I, falling back a pace, aghast at the suggestion. "Indeed nothing was further from my intent! Believe me, my good woman, I--" "Don't ye dare go callin' me ye 'good woman' in them breeches an' ye shirt all tore! An' look at ye 'at--I seen better on a scarecrow, I 'ave! You're trash apeing y'r betters--poor trash, that's wot you are! Good woman indeed! You tell 'im wot we think of 'im, Neddy--tell 'im plain an' p'inted!" Instantly the little man set thumb to nose and, spreading his fingers, wagged them at me in a highly offensive manner, at the same time ejaculating the one word: "Walker!" Which done, he nodded, the woman scowled, and so they left me.