Our friend is not a very adventurous or hot-headed person, but he
has passed through many dangers, as his mother can testify: there
is one great story in particular, concerning a hackney coachman who
wanted to overcharge him one night for bringing them home from the
play, upon which Felix gave the aforesaid coachman a look which his
mother thought would have crushed him to the earth, but which did
not crush him quite, for he continued to demand another sixpence,
notwithstanding that Felix took out his pocket-book, and, with the
aid of a flat candle, pointed out the fare in print, which the
coachman obstinately disregarding, he shut the street-door with a
slam which his mother shudders to think of; and then, roused to the
most appalling pitch of passion by the coachman knocking a double
knock to show that he was by no means convinced, he broke with
uncontrollable force from his parent and the servant girl, and
running into the street without his hat, actually shook his fist at
the coachman, and came back again with a face as white, Mrs. Nixon
says, looking about her for a simile, as white as that ceiling.
She never will forget his fury that night, Never!
To this account Felix listens with a solemn face, occasionally
looking at you to see how it affects you, and when his mother has
made an end of it, adds that he looked at every coachman he met for
three weeks afterwards, in hopes that he might see the scoundrel;
whereupon Mrs.
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