“Arternoon, you mean,” replied the groom, casting a surly look at Sam.

“You’re wery right, old friend,” said Sam; “I do mean arternoon. How are you?”

“Why, I don’t find myself much the better for seeing of you,” replied the ill-tempered groom.

“That’s wery odd⁠—that is,” said Sam, “for you look so uncommon cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it does vun’s heart good to see you.”

The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficiently so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired, with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master’s name was not Walker.

“No, it ain’t,” said the groom.

“Nor Brown, I s’pose?” said Sam.

“No, it ain’t.”