relaxed her gaze from Chugg's back since the stage
had started. She peered at that broad expanse of flannel shirt through the
tiny round window, like a careful sailing-master sweeping the horizon for
possible storm-clouds. At every portion of the road presenting a steep
decline she would prod Chugg in the back with the handle of her ample
umbrella, and demand that he let her out, as she preferred walking. The
stage-driver at first complied with these requests, but when he saw they
threatened to become chronic, he would send his team galloping down grade
at a rate to justify her liveliest fears.

"Do you think you are a-picnicking, that you crave roominating round these
yere solitoodes?" And the misanthrope cracked his whip and adjured his
team with cabalistic imprecations.

"Did you notice if Mrs. Dax giv' him any cold coffee, same as she did us?"
anxiously inquired the fat lady from her lookout.

Mary hadn't noticed.

"He's drinking something out of a brown bottle--seems to relish it a heep
more'n he would cold coffee," reported the watch. "Hi there! Hi! Mr.
Chugg!" The stage-driver, thinking it was merely a request to be allowed
to walk, continued to drive with one hand and hold the brown bottle with
the other. But even his too solid flesh was not proof against the
continued bombardment of the umbrella handle.

"Um-m-m," he grunted savagely, applying a watery eye to the round window.

"Nothing," answered the fat lady, quite satisfied at having her worst
fears confirmed.

Chugg returned to his driving, as one not above the weakness of seeing and
hearing things.

"'Tain't coffee."

"Could you smell it?" questioned Mary, anxiously.

"You never can tell that way, when they are plumb pickled in it, like
him."

"Then how did you know it wasn't coffee?"

"His eyes had fresh watered."

Mary collapsed under this expert testimony. "What are we going to do about
it?"

"Appeal to him as a gentleman," said the fat lady, not without dramatic
intonation.

"You appeal," counselled Mary; "I saw him look at you admiringly when you
were walking down that steep grade."

"Is that so?" said the fat lady, with a conspicuous lack of incredulity;
and she put her hand involuntarily to her frizzes.

This time she did not trust to the umbrella-handle as a medium of
communication between the stage-driver and herself. Putting her hand
through the port-hole she grasped Chugg's arm--the bottle arm--with no
uncertain grip.