"Sixpence-halfpenny, sir," "You are a saucy fellow," said Jorrocks.
"Thank ye, master, you're another," said the toll-taker; "and now that
you have had your say, vot do ye ax for your mouth?" "I say, sir, do you
belong to the Phenix? Vy don't you show your badge?" "I say, Tom, that
'ere fire-engine has been painted by some house-painter, it's never been
in the hands of no coach-maker. Do you shave by that 'ere glazed castor
of yours?" "I'm blowed it I wouldn't get you a shilling a week to
shove your face in sand, to make moulds for brass knockers." "Ay, get
away!--make haste, or the fire will be out," bawled out another, as
Jorrocks whipped on, and rattled out of hearing.

"Now, you see," said he, resuming the thread of his discourse, as if
nothing had happened, "this back seat turns down and makes a box, so
that when Mrs. J---- goes to her mother's at Tooting, she can take all
her things with her, instead of sending half of them by the coach as she
used to do; and if we are heavy, there is a pole belonging to it, so
that we can have two horses; and then there is a seat draws out here
(pulling a stool from between his legs) which anybody can sit on." "Yes,
anybody that is small enough," said the Yorkshireman, "but you would cut
a queer figure on it, I reckon." The truth was, that the "fire-engine"
was one of those useless affairs built by some fool upon a plan of his
own, with the idea of combining every possible comfort and advantage,
and in reality not possessing one. Friend Jorrocks had seen it at a
second-hand shop in Fore Street, and became the happy owner of it, in
exchange for the cruelty-van and seventeen pounds.--Their appearance on
the road created no small sensation, and many were the jokes passed upon
the "fire-engine." One said they were mountebanks; another that it was
a horse-break; a third asked if it was one of Gurney's steam-carriages,
while a fourth swore it was a new convict-cart going to Brixton.
Jorrocks either did not or would not hear their remarks, and kept