"Blow me tight if I didn't think the wheel'd do that afore we started. Blow me right and tight!"
By this time, all the village stood in a circle and supplied an exhaustive commenting upon the sad event.
"She's putt her futt through her petticutt," whooped grandmother.
"So her 'ave and toored 'un proper."
"Blarm 'un if the old buoy's knee ain't streaked like somebody's baäd baäcon."
"So it be, buoy, so it be," came the delighted rejoinder.
"Look, see the seat of his breeches!" cried a shapely hussy.
"I never saw such a power o' mud, why 'e's like a brown paäper plaster behind. Poor soul!"
"Horse ain't hurt?" asked a sharp-featured, bow-legged individual with professional anxiety.
Four or five hobbledehoys had assisted the Beau to his feet and volunteered to show him the way to the Green Dragon. As that hostelry stood exactly opposite the scene of the disaster, the offer savoured of something more than mere friendliness.