“The Thquire thtood by you, Thethilia, and I’ll thtand by the Thquire. More than that: thith ith a prethiouth rathcal and belongth to that bluthtering Cove that my people nearly pitht out o’ winder. It’ll be a dark night; I’ve got a horthe that’ll do anything but thpeak; I’ve got a pony that’ll go fifteen mile an hour with Childerth driving of him; I’ve got a dog that’ll keep a man to one plathe four-and-twenty hourth. Get a word with the young Thquire. Tell him, when he theeth our horthe begin to danthe, not to be afraid of being thpilt, but to look out for a pony-gig coming up. Tell him, when he theeth that gig clothe by, to jump down, and it’ll take him off at a rattling pathe. If my dog leth thith young man thtir a peg on foot, I give him leave to go. And if my horthe ever thtirth from that thpot where he beginth a danthing, till the morning – I don’t know him? – Tharp’th the word!”
The word was so sharp, that in ten minutes Mr. Childers, sauntering about the market-place in a pair of slippers, had his cue, and Mr. Sleary’s equipage was ready. It was a fine sight to behold the learned dog barking round it, and Mr. Sleary instructing him, with his one practical eye, that Bitzer was the object of his particular attentions. Soon after dark they all three got in and started; the learned dog (a formidable creature) already pinning Bitzer with his eye, and sticking close to the wheel on his side, that he might be ready for him in the event of his showing the slightest disposition to alight.
The other three sat up at the inn all night in great suspense. At eight o’clock in the morning Mr. Sleary and the dog reappeared: both in high spirits.
“All right, Thquire!” said Mr. Sleary, “your thon may be aboard-a-thip by thith time. Childerth took him off, an hour and a half after we left here lathe night. The horth danthed the polka till he was dead beat (he would have walthed, if he hadn’t been in harneth), and then I gave him the word and he went to thleep comfortable. Then that prethiouth young Rathcal thed he’d go for’ard afoot, the dog hung on to hith neck-handkercher with all four legth in the air and pulled him down and rolled him over. Tho he come back into the drag, and there he that, ’till I turned the horthe’th head, at half-path thixth thith morning.”
Mr. Gradgrind overwhelmed him with thanks, of course; and hinted as delicately as he could, at a handsome remuneration in money.
“I don’t wan’t money mythelf, Thquire; but Childerth ith a family man, and if you wath to like to offer him a five-pound note, it mightn’t be unactheptable. Likewithe if you wath to thand a collar for the dog, or a thet of belth for the horthe, I thould be very glad to take’em. Brandy and water I alwayth take.” He had already called for a glass, and now called for another. “If you wouldn’t think it going too far, Thquire, to make a little thpread for the company at about three and thixth ahead; not reckoning Luth, it would make’em happy.”
All these little tokens of his gratitude, Mr. Gradgrind very willingly undertook to render. Though he thought them far too slight, he said, for such a service.
“Very well, Thquire; then, if you’ll only give a Horthe-riding, a bethpeak, whenever you can, you’ll more than balanthe the account. Now, Thquire, if your daughter will excuthe me, I thoud like one parting word with you.”
Louisa and Sissy withdrew into an adjoining room; Mr. Sleary, stirring and drinking his brandy and water as he stood, went on:
“Thquire, you don’t need to be told that dogth is wonderful animalth.”
“Their instinct,” said Mr. Gradgrind, “is surprising.”
“Whatever you call it – and I’m bletht if I know what to call it,” – said Sleary, “it ith athonithing. The way in with a dog’ll find you – the dithtanthe he’ll come!”
“His scent,” said Mr. Gradgrind, “being so fine.”
“I’m bleth if I know what to call it,” repeated Sleary, shaking his head, “but I have had dogth find me, Thquire, in a way that made me think whether that dog hadn’t gone to another dog, and thed, ‘You don’t happen to know a perthon of the name of Thleary, do you? Perthon of the name of Thleary, in the Horthe-Riding way – thout man – game eye?’ And whether that dog mightn’t have thed, ‘Well, I can’t thay I know him mythelf, but I know a dog that I think would be likely to be acquainted with him.’ And whether that dog mightn’t have thought it over, and thed, ‘Thleary, Thleary! O yeth, to be thure! A friend of mine menthioned him to me at one time. I can get you hith addreth directly.’ In conthequenth of my being afore the public, and going about tho muth, you thee, there muth be a number of dogth acquainted with me, Thquire, that I don’t know!”