“It’s very well,” said the little man, “but if I travel with a woman again in a stage----” “Poo! poo!--consider your own wife,” said the stout man; “women can’t be stuck in garden-pots and tied to sticks; they must come up to London now and then. She’ll be very comfortable in front.” “I wish she may,” said the little man, rather tartly, “but it’s hard to suit the sex;”--and, as if to confirm the sentence, the coach, after proceeding about a mile, came again to a full stop. “I’m very sorry, gentlemen,” said the coachman, with a touch of his hat, as be looked in at the window, “but she won’t do in front!” “Just like ’em!” muttered the little man, “the devil himself can’t please a woman.” “I should think,” suggested the stout man, “if you were to give her the box seat, with your arm well round her waist.” “No, I’ve tried that,” said the coachman, shaking his head; “it did pretty well over the level, but we’re coming on a hill, and she can’t face it.” “Set her down at once, bag and baggage,” said the little man; “I’ve an appointment at one.” “And for my part,” said a gentleman in black, “if there’s any delay, I give you legal notice I shall hire a chaise at the expense of the coach proprietors.” “That’s just it, curse her,” said the perplexed coachman, deliberately taking off his hat, that he might have a scratch at his head; “she’s had her pick, outside and in, back and front, and it’s no use of course to propose to her to sit astride on the pole.” “Oh Eve! Eve! Eve!” exclaimed the little man, who seemed to owe the sex some peculiar grudge. The man in black looked at his watch. The coachman pulled out a handful of silver, and began to count out a portion, preparatory to offering to return the woman her fare if she would get down--when a cheering voice hailed him from above. “It’s all right, Tom--jump up--the lady’s creeping into the boot.” “She won’t like that, I guess,” muttered Tom to himself, but in a second the money jingled back into his pocket, and he was on his box in the twinkling of an eye. Away went the coach over the brow of the hill, and began to spin down the descent with an impetus increasing at every yard. The wheels rattled--the chains jingled--the horse-shoes clattered--and the maid in the boot shrieked like a maid in Bedlam. “Poor thing!” ejaculated the stout gentleman. The little man grinned--villanously like an ape. The man in black pretended to be asleep.