ABSTRACT
THE cabman, when he brought us to the wharf, and made his usual charge of six times his legal fare, before the settlement of which he pretended to refuse the privilege of an exeat regno to our luggage, glared like a disappointed fiend when Lankin, calling up the faithful Hutchison, his clerk who was in attendance, said to him, “Hutchison, you will pay this man. My name is Serjeant Lankin, my chambers are in Pump Court. My clerk will settle with you, sir.” The cab-man trembled; we stepped on board; our lightsome luggage was speedily whisked away by the crew; our berths had been secured by the previous agency of Hutchison; and a couple of tickets, on which were written, “Mr. Serjeant Lankin,” “Mr. Titmarsh” (Lankiu’s, by the way, incomparably the best and comfortablest sleeping place), were pinned on to two of the curtains of the beds in a side cabin when we descended.
