“That wasn’t the end, bless you. Tried all we knew to bring back his circulation, but nothing seemed any use, and it wasn’t until we got to a oast-house and got the hop-driers to put him in the oven—” “Hops in December?” “It was a late year,” said the driver calmly. “Everything were behindhand. But what I was going to say was this. You’ve got a box-seat. There’s a gen’leman in there drinking his second cup, with something in it, and he’s a good-natured chap, and he’s willing to change his inside seat for yours. Say the word, and it’s done!” The youth congratulated himself upon his acuteness in seeing through the device, but later, when he ducked his head on the stage coach going through the archway and adjusting his muffler, made a polite reference to the weather and its possibilities, the driver, who was smoking one of the cigars, responded only with a grunt. He tried again as they took a corner rather narrowly, and this time the driver made no response of any kind. Later, when a hackney coach called out something derisive, he ventured to suggest a retort, and then the driver hinted plainly that he was not in the mood for conversation, that if he should change his views he would make intimation of the circumstance; in the meantime the young man had better talk quietly to himself, or address his remarks to one of the other passengers. The youth, giving up with regret the impression that all stagecoach drivers were communicative, cheery, and dispensers of merry anecdotes, turned to a fellow-traveller seated behind. “Seasonable weather.” “What you say?” “I said,” mentioned the young man deferentially, “it was seasonable weather.” “When?” asked the passenger behind. “Now. At the present time. I mean that, whether you agree with me or not, the weather to-day is weather that—” “Do you know what you do mean?” “I know what I’m driving at,” he asserted, becoming somewhat nettled; “but apparently I don’t make sufficient allowance for lack of intelligence on your part.” “If it didn’t mean taking my hands out of my pocket,” said the passenger behind, “I’d knock your head clean off your shoulders. That’s what I’d do to you. Clean off your shoulders!” They pulled up at a roadside inn, and the young man, thoughtful and slightly moody after these rebuffs, brightened as he swung himself down with assistance from the axle and, stamping to and fro, endeavoured to restore circulation. Two ladies, one old and one young, stepped from the interior of the coach and looked around distractedly. He went forward and asked whether he could be of any service. “Lunch?” he echoed. “Why, of course! I declare I had nearly forgotten lunch. Pray follow me. The others have preceded us, but doubtless—” “We are greatly indebted to you, sir,” declared the elder lady. “My niece is unused to any but the most delicate refinements of life, and it is on her account rather than my own that I ventured to appeal to you.”