“Very surprising indeed, for a man of your observation.”
“Lord bless you, sir, vy my observation is nothing to Squire —, that’s his house you see on your left; they say he can see the Eclipse (coach) in the moon. But they can’t tool ’em along as ve does here, I take it, sir. Go along, snarler!”
James’s tongue and the coach continued in rapid progress; and in due time we reached the Sportsman Inn at Whetstone, when the passengers had an opportunity of displaying the extraordinary effects produced by the morning air upon fasting stomachs. A lady and her daughter, who were inside passengers, did ample justice to the fare; the latter, in particular, payed away at the cold fowl and ham in a manner truly surprising. “Coach ready, ladies,” cried James; and up jumped mother and pet, with mouths full of fowl, toast, etc., which they washed down, unmasticated, with the dregs of their tea; and in a minute were again seated inside the coach, opposite to two gentlemen, one rather a corpulent man, with “spectacles on nose,” the other a gay young citizen, who was to leave us at Barnet.
The coach had not started above five minutes, before fragrant wreaths of smoke were making their escape out of the window, and delighting the outside passengers with the refreshing odour: for this we were indebted to the stout gentleman before mentioned, who having lately arrived from America, could not be expected to understand the civilized customs of travellers in England, and who inconsiderately concluded that his cigar was as agreeable to the ladies as to himself. It proved otherwise, however: the cold fowl lay uneasy, and the ham seemed to object to being smoked. This, both ladies endeavoured to intimate to their opposite neighbour, by sundry wry faces and beseeching looks. At length, his cigar being nearly finished, the smoker could no longer pretend blindness to the distressing condition to which he had reduced his companions—and he then asked “if they had any objection to smoking?”
The elderly lady, whose politeness had extended to the utmost limits of her nature, with a forced smile replied (while the ashy paleness of her face spoke the tumult that was stirring within,) “Not the—slightest, sir, if you have no objection to—to—” open the other window, she would have said, but the daughter could no longer support the motion of the coach and the fumes of tobacco, and, to the horror of the American gentleman, he instantly found himself in no very enviable situation.
He started from his seat, and almost lifted the roof of the coach off by the concussion between it and his head. “No objection, madam!” cried he in great wrath; “but I wish you to understand that I have a very great objection to this, I calculate!—Here, coachman! stop! let me get out! will you?”
Coachee complied, and the ladies were doubly relieved.
“I’m in a pretty considerable pickle, I’m thinking!” said he, as he seated himself behind us on the roof.
The more agreeable rattle of the wheels prevented our hearing more of his complaints, and we arrived at Barnet.
About a mile and a half from Barnet, upon the right, is the estate of Mr. Byng, and a little further, on the left, that of Mr. Trotter. The town of St. Albans with its ancient Abbey, which creates pleasing ideas of bygone times, of monks and friars, “fat pullets and clouted cream,” was passed through; and descending the hill, on leaving the town, fresh objects became interesting to the eye.