With the
exception of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach
party ever assembled at Lyndhurst.
We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the
joke, when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know
her place.
The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the
driver.
"We've had to put five of you on that seat," added the clerk.
The stout lady looked at the seat.
"Five of us can't squeeze into that," she said.
Five of her certainly could not. Four ordinary sized people with
her would find it tight.
"Very well then," said the clerk, "you can have the end place on the
back seat."
"Nothing of the sort," said the stout lady. "I booked my seat on
Monday, and you told me any of the front places were vacant.
"I'LL take the back place," I said, "I don't mind it.
"You stop where you are, young 'un," said the clerk, firmly, "and
don't be a fool. I'll fix HER."
I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself.
"Oh, let ME have the back seat," said Minnie, rising, "I'd so like
it."
For answer the coachman put both his hands on her shoulders. He was
a heavy man, and she sat down again.
"Now then, mum," said the clerk, addressing the stout lady, "are you
going up there in the middle, or are you coming up here at the
back?"
"But why not let one of them take the back seat?" demanded the stout
lady, pointing her reticule at Minnie and myself; "they say they'd
like it.
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