"That I am unable to tell you," said I, and began to blow up the fire while the Postilion watched me, sucking the handle of his whip reflectively. "You work oncommon 'ard—drownd me if you don't!" "Pretty hard!" I nodded. "An' gets well paid for it, p'r'aps?" "Not so well as I could wish," said I. "Not so well as 'e could wish," nodded the Postilion, apparently addressing the sledge-hammer, for his gaze was fixed upon it. "Of course not—the 'arder a man works the wuss 'e gets paid—'ow much did you say you got a week?" "I named no sum," I replied. "Well—'ow much might you be gettin' a week?" "Ten shillings." "Gets ten shillin' a week!" he nodded to the sledgehammer, "that ain't much for a chap like 'im—kick me, if it is!" "Yet I make it do very well!" The Postilion became again absorbed in contemplation of the bellows; indeed he studied them so intently, viewing them with his head now on one side, now on the other, that I fell to watching him, under my brows, and so, presently, caught him furtively watching me. Hereupon he drew his whip from his mouth and spoke. "Supposing—" said he, and stopped. "Well?" I inquired, and, leaning upon my hammer, I looked him square in the eye. "Supposing—wot are you a-staring at, my feller?" "You have said 'supposing' twice—well?" "Well," said he, fixing his eye upon the bellows again, "supposing you was to make a guinea over an' above your wages this week?" "I should be very much surprised," said I. "You would?" "I certainly should." "Then—why not surprise yourself?" "You must speak more plainly," said I. "Well then," said the Postilion, still with his gaze abstracted, "supposin' I was to place a guinea down on that there anvil o' yours—would that 'elp you to remember where Number Two—'er—might be?" "No!" "It wouldn't?" "No!" "A guinea's a lot o' money!" "It is," I nodded. "An' you say it wouldn't?" "It would not!" said I. "Then say—oh! say two pun' ten an' 'ave done with it." "No!" said I, shaking my head. "What—not—d'ye say 'no' to two pun' ten?" "I do." "Well, let's say three pound." I shook my head and, drawing the iron from the fire, began to hammer at it. "Well then," shouted the Postilion, for I was making as much din as possible, "say four—five—ten—fifteen—twenty-five—fifty!" Here I ceased hammering. "Tell me when you've done!" said I. "You're a cool customer, you are—ah! an' a rum un' at that—I never see a rummer." "Other people have thought the same," said I, examining the half-finished horseshoe ere I set it back in the fire. "Sixty guineas!" said the Postilion gloomily. "Come again!" said I. "Seventy then!" said he, his gloom deepening. "Once more!" said I. "A 'undred—one 'undred guineas!" said he, removing his hat to mop at his brow. "Any more?" I inquired. "No!" returned the Postilion sulkily, putting on his hat, "I'm done!" "Did he set the figure at a hundred guineas?" said I.