The speaker had arrived in front of that in which Maynard sate—solus, and in a corner.
“Seats for five of us,” pursued he. “We’d better take this, ladies. One of us fellaws must stow elsewhere.”
The ladies assenting, he opened the door, and stood holding the handle.
The three ladies—there were three of them—entered first.
It became a question which of the three “fellaws” was to be separated from such pleasant travelling-companions—two of them being young and pretty.
“I’ll go,” volunteered he who appeared the youngest and least consequential of the trio.
The proposal was eagerly accepted by the other two—especially him who held the handle of the door.
By courtesy he was the last to take a seat. He had entered the carriage, and was about doing so; when all at once a thought, or something else, seemed to strike him—causing him to change his design.
“Aw, ladies!” he said, “I hope yaw will pardon me for leaving yaw to go into the smoking cawage. I’m dying for a cigaw.”
Perhaps the ladies would have said, “Smoke where you are;” but there was a stranger to be consulted, and they only said: