“There’s something funny about us. All these people are grinning.”
She walked round me, and I walked round her, but we could neither of us discover anything amusing about the other. The booking-clerk said—
“It’s all right. I’ve got you young people two places just behind the box-seat. We’ll have to put five of you on that seat. You won’t mind sitting a bit close, will you?”
The booking-clerk winked at the coachman, the coachman winked at the passengers, the passengers winked at one another—those of them who could wink—and everybody laughed. The two chamber-maids became hysterical, and had to cling to each other for support. With the exception of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach party ever assembled at Lyndhurst.
We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the joke, when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know her place.
The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the driver.
“We’ve had to put five of you on that seat,” added the clerk.
The stout lady looked at the seat.
“Five of us can’t squeeze into that,” she said.
Five of her certainly could not. Four ordinary sized people with her would find it tight.