As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. Gianfrancesco had been talked into the arrangement only because the drivers that had handled the job for generations were sick or dead. "You've won your wager. You are too credulous. Papa doesn't even care, but he just goes along with whatever my Mom says. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.
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