It was in the morning of the day following that in which the above
conversations occurred, that the sagacious Augustus Tomlinson and the
valorous Edward Pepper, handcuffed and fettered, were jogging along the
road in a postchaise, with Mr. Nabbem squeezed in by the side of the
former, and two other gentlemen in Mr. Nabbem's confidence mounted on the
box of the chaise, and interfering sadly, as Long Ned growlingly
remarked, with "the beauty of the prospect."

"Ah, well!" quoth Nabbem, unavoidably thrusting his elbow into
Tomlinson's side, while he drew out his snuffbox, and helped himself
largely to the intoxicating dust; "you had best prepare yourself, Mr.
Pepper, for a change of prospects. I believes as how there is little to
please you in _guod_ [prison]."

"Nothing makes men so facetious as misfortune to others!" said Augustus,
moralizing, and turning himself, as well as he was able, in order to
deliver his body from the pointed elbow of Mr. Nabbem. "When a man is
down in the world, all the bystanders, very dull fellows before, suddenly
become wits!"

"You reflects on I," said Mr. Nabbem. "Well, it does not sinnify a pin;
for directly we does our duty, you chaps become howdaciously ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful!" said Pepper; "what a plague have we got to be grateful for?
I suppose you think we ought to tell you you are the best friend we have,
because you have scrouged us, neck and crop, into this horrible hole,
like turkeys fatted for Christmas. 'Sdeath! one's hair is flatted down
like a pancake; and as for one's legs, you had better cut them off at
once than tuck them up in a place a foot square,--to say nothing of these
blackguardly irons!"