"Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. I hate what I am. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. I do swear. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles.
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