Two young men were already seated in the stage, and their luggage was
securely stowed away in the boot. The postmaster--the village
storekeeper filled that responsible position--was busily engaged in
making up the mail, and old Jerry, the fat good-natured old driver, was
laughing and joking with the by-standers, as he awaited the hour for
departure. As Robert stepped upon the platform he bestowed a hasty,
though searching glance at the two men in the coach, and to his relief
found that neither of them was the man he wanted, and he quietly stepped
back and watched the proceedings that were going on around him.
The postmaster appeared at last, mail-sack in hand, which he consigned
to Jerry's care, and that burly individual clambered up to his place as
gracefully as his big body and exceedingly short legs would permit.
Seating himself upon his box, he gathered up his reins and shouted a
good-natured farewell to the crowd. A quick and vigorous application of
the whip awakened the dozing horses so suddenly that they started up
with a spasmodic jerk which nearly threw the old fellow from his perch.
By a desperate effort, however, he maintained his seat, but his
broad-brimmed hat went flying from his bald head and rolled to the
ground, scattering in its fall his snuff-box, spectacles and a monstrous
red bandanna handkerchief.
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