I do not think that the Great little Man ever recovered from this outrage to his personal attire, for to the very end of his modish days, he would wear a coat cut an inch or two lower than was readily allowed by the least conservative tailor in his employment. As for Mrs. Courteen, who followed meekly in the wake of her wounded escort, she could not refrain from wishing that the Major and the Justice were at hand to console her with jealous attentions and rival sympathies, and when the first round drop of the swift-approaching storm hit her plump on the nose and washed away in its downward course the last vestige of powder from her face, she regretted also the tributary fingers of Betty. In the hall of the _Green Dragon_ their reception was almost servile. Great Cobblebury, for all its pompous name, was too near to Curtain Wells to attract the attention of many travellers, and the _Green Dragon_ depended for custom almost entirely on the thirstiness of the surrounding population. Guests, therefore, received very excellent service for their money. The host, one George Upex, had watched the advance of the chaise with sleek arms beneath a protuberant apron and thumbs that twiddled sleepily; but the smash aroused his hospitable instincts, and by the time Mr. Ripple and Mrs. Courteen had reached the doorway of the inn, he was back from the kitchen, where he had hastily ordered the immediate insertion into the capacious oven of several dishes, and was ready to usher the stranded travellers into the parlour. "And what will your good lady take?" he inquired, with his rubicund face cocked at what he considered a very appetizing angle. "She is not my good lady, sirrah," rapped out the Beau. "Not at all, your honour--beg pardon," said Mr. Upex, putting up a gigantick hand to an equally gigantick mouth as if he would force the latter feature to eat the indiscreet question it had so grossly emitted. "How long will it take to mend the damage to my chaise?" demanded Mr. Ripple. The landlord made a rough calculation in his mind. "About an hour to cook the--to mend the--er--chaise," he replied. "Have you a bed?" asked the Beau. The landlord beamed. They were going to spend the night under his roof, and mentally he saw himself on the next day obscuring the sunlight of the parlour with a very long bill. "A bed, your honour? Yes, indeed! Oh! yes." Mr. Upex paused. "A bed?" "Yes! a bed--a b-e-d--bed." "For one night?" "One night--no! now, sirrah, now." Mr. Ripple stamped his little foot, probably to shake off the mud of the humiliating accident. "Now?" Mr. Upex looked surprized, that is to say the mouth of Mr. Upex remained fixed in a cavernous gape. "Why not now?" exclaimed the peremptory Beau. "Ain't your beds aired, landlord? Ain't they made yet?" "Oh, certainly, your honour."