When the cab came round, and I went to see my trunk safe on the box with the driver, lo and behold! if that blockhead of an Emma hadn’t been sewing the card on to the handle with some cotton, instead of nailing it on to the lid, as I desired her. But of course she would have it that it was all my fault, saying, that when I told her to fasten it on with a tack or two, she naturally fancied that I meant with a needle and thread--instead of a hammer and nails, as any one, with half a grain of sense in their heads, would have understood me. But there was no time to have it altered then, so I jumped into the cab, disgusted with the whole world, and determined to prevent accidents, by not allowing the trunk to go out of my sight for a moment. What with quarrelling with that Emma, and searching for coppers to give those dreadful cheats at the turnpikes, and the cabman going the longest way round to make me fancy the distance was greater than it was, positively, when I got to the railway, the bell was ringing. While I was quarrelling with that shameful impostor of a cabman about the fare, I turned round, and saw a porter running off with my trunk on his green velveteen shoulder. I screamed after him, telling him to put it down that instant, but it was all to no use. So taking the cabman’s number, and paying what he asked, off I rushed into the office, and whilst I was getting my ticket, told the gentleman that one of their porters had, in a most shameful manner, carried off my trunk, and I should certainly hold the company responsible for any damage or loss that might happen to it. But of course he would have it that I needn’t alarm myself, and would find it all right, saying that if there was a card on it marked “Guildford,” it would be put with the Guildford luggage, and taken out at the proper station. But there was no time for looking into the matter, for when I got on the platform, the second bell rang, and I was no sooner in my place, than off went the train.