'I think you are quite rude, sir.'
'I'd like to know how?' inquired he, with a look of surprise.
'By making remarks on my waist, sir. No gentleman would be guilty of such an offence,' replied the indignant lady.
Fortunately, the train at this juncture stopped at a way station, and the yellow moustache, poll-parrot scarf, and kid gloves got out, first bowing very politely to their late companion. Ann Harriet was a little sorry to have their inmate go, but consoled herself with the thought that he was altogether too familiar.
About fifteen miles farther on, an orange boy made his appearance; and Ann, thinking an orange would moisten her throat, felt for her portemonnaie, and found it not; for, while she was so intently looking out for pickpockets at Yellowfield, her agreeable companion had appropriated her cash, by looking in her pocket.
'There! that dandy villain has robbed me of my wallet, with fifteen dollars in it, and the receipt for Sally Lunn cake I was going to give Aunt Farnsworth!' exclaimed she, placidly. Stout folks bear disasters calmly. Luckily, she had two or three dollars in her satchel, which she had received from the ticket master when she purchased her ticket, so she was not entirely bankrupt. Some of the passengers attempted to sympathize with her, but they found it a thankless task, and soon desisted.
Ann Harriet, her griefs digested, drew herself into as compact a compass as possible, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.
The cars rolled, in due time, into the noisy station at Boston, and our traveller, after much exertion and trepidation, safely reached the platform, with her rhubarb pie unharmed. She looked anxiously around for her cousin Gregory, whom she had never seen, save in his carte de visite, and by that she found him in a few minutes. Gregory was a handsome man, quite young, and dressed in a neat suit of light clothes, donned that afternoon for the first time. He had never seen his cousin, and was therefore not a little surprised when the corpulent beauty introduced herself as Miss Ann Harriet Hobbs, of Peonytown. Gregory had come down to the station with a light buggy, in which he intended to convey his fair relative home, but at the first glance saw that it would be disastrous both to the buggy and Ann Harriet to attempt any such feat. He therefore escorted her to a hack, and left her a moment. While he was gone, Ann Harriet, who had forgotten all her troubles in the contemplation of riding home with her handsome cousin, laid the rhubarb pie on the opposite seat of the carriage, reserving the place by her side for Gregory. But this gentleman, not feeling sure that he would find room by the side of his massive cousin, when he entered the carriage, sat hastily down opposite her. Crash went the Peonytown Clarion, and 'sqush' went the juicy rhubarb, completely saturating Gregory's new garments. Ann Harriet gave a loud shriek, exclaiming: 'Oh! you have spoilt that nice pie that I made for Aunt Priscilla, from Mrs. Wilkins's receipt.'
'Hang Mrs. Wilkins's receipt!' exclaimed Gregory, who was imperturbable. 'I think I shall have to get some one to reseat my pantaloons.'
There was nothing to be done but to drive home as quickly as possible. The hackman was paid for the damage to his vehicle, and Gregory hastened up stairs to resume the old suit which only a few hours before he had thrown aside disdainfully.