“Tell your master to make his box-seat wider, then,” returned the passenger. “Your master is morally bound—and ought to be legally, under ruinous penalties—to provide for the comfort of his fellow-man.”
The driver instituted, with the palms of his hands, a superficial perquisition into the state of his skeleton; which seemed to make him anxious.
“Have I sat upon you?” asked the passenger.
“You have,” said the driver, as if he didn’t like it at all.
“Take that card, my friend.”
“I think I won’t deprive you on it,” returned the driver, casting his eyes over it with no great favour, without taking it. “What’s the good of it to me?”
“Be a Member of that Society,” said the passenger.
“What shall I get by it?” asked the driver.
“Brotherhood,” returned the passenger, in a ferocious voice.
“Thankee,” said the driver, very deliberately, as he got down; “my mother was contented with myself, and so am I. I don’t want no brothers.”