“Yaas banquette, coupe,—yaas, diligence.”
“Do you understand? Two seats, diligence, Simplon, morning. Will you get them?”
“Oh, yaas! morning, diligence. Yaas, sirr.”
“Hang the fellow! Where is the office?” And the gentleman left the spry little waiter bobbing about in the middle of the street, speaking English, but probably comprehending nothing that was said to him. I inquired the way to the office of the conductor: it was closed, but would soon be open, and I waited; and at length the official, a stout Frenchman, appeared, and I secured places in the interior, the only ones to be had to Visp. I had seen a diligence at the door with three places in the coupe, and one perched behind; no banquette. The office is brightly lighted; people are waiting to secure places; there is the usual crowd of loafers, men and women, and the Frenchman sits at his desk. Enter the American.
“I want two places in coupe, in the morning. Or banquette. Two places, diligence.” The official waves him off, and says something.
“What does he say?”
“He tells you to sit down on that bench till he is ready.”
Soon the Frenchman has run over his big waybills, and turns to us.
“I want two places in the diligence, coupe,” etc, etc, says the American.
This remark being lost on the official, I explain to him as well as I can what is wanted, at first,—two places in the coupe.