THE BLIND PASSENGER.
farther. It is an old ill-luck of mine that my blind passengers have no money, when they alight at the last stage.”
My face, I rather think, expressed my feelings, for the rascal continued, “Nothing is to be had for nothing, except death.”
The passenger took out a small leathern purse, which, it was visible, contained little more than the drink-money, made up of a few silver and copper coins, and these he gave to the driver, who touched his hat and retired.
“The insolence of these fellows is at times scarcely tolerable,” I exclaimed, turning round with sympathy to the poor blind stranger.
He smiled, and said, “With people of my sort it is always so, and custom reconciles us to any thing.”
As he said this, his face, his action, his tone, all inspired a lively interest. The young man was not born for such a condition of life, and certainly was not born in it.
“Do you travel far?” I asked.
“That depends upon circumstances!”—Not another word.