"D—n his rascally drunken soul!" said Elliston, trying to force open the carriage-door. "I'll settle him! Trust me for having him off his perch in half a second. Of all things I abhor a drunkard!"
"For God's sake, Elliston, be quiet," said George Lamb.
"You seem to take it perfectly easy," said I, to Lamb, "seeing that all our precious necks are in danger!"
"We must take our chance," answered Lamb quietly. "The only thing I particularly dread is the idea of Elliston attempting to drive us home himself. I can bear anything but that."
The coachman and footman now appeared to be fighting on the box, Livius was scolding and bawling out of one window, Elliston faisant un bruit tel qu'il n'y en eut jamais en enfer, at the other, because he could not get the coach door open, and nobody would come to his assistance. At last he succeeded; the footman made room for him on the box, and Elliston quietly threw the drunken coachman off on to the pavement, box-coat and all, in spite of his swearing and kicking.
Livius got out of the carriage, and picked the man up, to ascertain that he was alive, as he fell without uttering a groan.
"Oh! for shame, you cowardly wretch, to treat an honest poor coachman in that brutal way! Why you've killed him, poor dear soul!" said an old hag, who happened to pass at the instant.
Elliston, still smarting with the knocks, kicks and scratches he had got in his scuffle with the obstinate coachman, was not in a very gentle humour. The woman forced herself in his way, and he, I presume, pushed her rather ungallantly aside.
"Oh you coward! oh you coward!" screamed out the woman; "strike a woman, hay! here's a coward for you!"