“Very well then,” said the clerk, “you can have the end place on the back seat.”
“Nothing of the sort,” said the stout lady. “I booked my seat on Monday, and you told me any of the front places were vacant.
“I’ll take the back place,” I said, “I don’t mind it.
“You stop where you are, young ’un,” said the clerk, firmly, “and don’t be a fool. I’ll fix her.”
I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself.
“Oh, let me have the back seat,” said Minnie, rising, “I’d so like it.”
For answer the coachman put both his hands on her shoulders. He was a heavy man, and she sat down again.
“Now then, mum,” said the clerk, addressing the stout lady, “are you going up there in the middle, or are you coming up here at the back?”
“But why not let one of them take the back seat?” demanded the stout lady, pointing her reticule at Minnie and myself; “they say they’d like it. Let them have it.”
The coachman rose, and addressed his remarks generally.