The gentleman in the plaid cloak commended him very much for his
resolution; for he said, "that although the journey to and from
Portsmouth would cost twice the value of a gold seal, yet, that in the
end it might be worth a _Jew's Eye_." What he meant I did not
comprehend.
Whenever the coach stopped, the sailor called for more ale, and always
threw the remainder which he could not drink into the face of the man
who brought it out for him, just as the coach was starting off, and then
tossed the pewter pot on the ground for him to pick up. He became more
tipsy every stage, and the last from Portsmouth, when he pulled out his
money, he could find no silver, so he handed down a note, and desired
the waiter to change it. The waiter crumpled it up and put it into his
pocket, and then returned the sailor the change for a one-pound note;
but the gentleman in the plaid had observed that it was a five-pound
note which the sailor had given, and insisted upon the waiter producing
it, and giving the proper change. The sailor took his money, which the
waiter handed to him, begging pardon for the mistake, although he
coloured up very much at being detected. "I really beg your pardon,"
said he again, "it was quite a mistake;" whereupon the sailor threw the
pewter pot at the waiter, saying, "I really beg your pardon, too,"--and
with such force, that it flattened upon the man's head, who fell
senseless on the road. The coachman drove off, and I never heard whether
the man was killed or not.
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