He was.
Compunction seized upon Mary.
"Oh, I'm so awfully sorry! Are you hurt badly?"
She thought the pony must have struck him in some vital part of his anatomy. A desperate sense of helplessness assailed her. Supposing the man died here by the roadside, and she miles away from a doctor, unable to lift him into the high cart, unwilling to leave him alone in the dark. On the other hand he might only have had too much to drink.
"I'm all right now." The stranger's voice was shaky but more cheerful. To Mary's relief he walked across the road quite firmly and stood by the cart. "I wasn't really much hurt, only sort of winded and very much surprised. I know it's bad manners. I'm sorry."
He actually laughed, but his teeth were chattering, and he held tightly to the shaft as though he were not sure of his balance.
Crises made Mary practical. "Can you get into the cart?" she asked. Without further comment he climbed up and sat down in her seat. "That's my seat. Please move to the other side. And take care, the pony always starts forward directly I get in."
She scrambled up and they drove forward in silence. It was very dark.
"Are you all right?"
"Quite, thanks. Only a little shaken, not hurt at all. I shouldn't have let go like that so soon. I always go and spoil things at the end."