As the
carriage, however, was far behind him, and toiling slowly under the
weight of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travellers, he
had plenty of time to walk at leisure.
On a jutting point of rock that overhung the road nearly at the summit
of the hill, just where the route began again to descend, he saw a
solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins
was one of your shrewd travellers that always like to be picking up
small information along the road, so he thought he'd just scramble up
to the honest man, and have a little talk with him by way of learning
the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the
peasant he did not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the
rocks wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat,
only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle
brow, and a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times
to his dog which was roving about the side of the hill. As the Alderman
approached he rose and greeted him. When standing erect he seemed
almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins; who,
however, being a short man, might be deceived.
The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, or even on
'change in London, for he was by no means well pleased with his
company. However, he determined to put the best face on matters, and
was beginning a conversation about the state of the weather, the
baddishness of the crops, and the price of goats in that part of the
country, when he heard a violent screaming.
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