"And the ladies?" asked Jeff, whose laugh--possibly from his morning's
experience--was not as ready as formerly.

"The ladies! Ef you mean that 'ar livin' skellington I packed up to yer
house," said Bill promptly, "it's a pair of them in size and color,
and ready for any first-class undertaker's team in the kintry. Why, you
remember that curve on Break Neck hill, where the leaders allus look as
if they was alongside o' the coach and faced the other way? Well, that
woman sticks her skull outer the window, and sez she, confidential-like
to old yaller-belly, sez she, 'William Henry,' sez she, 'tell that man
his horses are running away!'"

"You didn't get to see the--the--daughter, Bill, did you?" asked Jeff,
whose laugh had become quite uneasy.

"No, I didn't," said Bill, with sudden and inexplicable vehemence, "and
the less you see of her, Jefferson Briggs, the better for you."

Too confounded and confused by Bill's manner to question further, Jeff
remained silent until they drew up at the door of the "Half-way
House." But here another surprise awaited him. Mr. Mayfield, erect and
dignified, stood upon the front porch as the coach drove up.

"Driver!" began Mr. Mayfield.

There was no reply.

"Driver," said Mr. Mayfield, slightly weakening under Bill's eye, "I
shall want you no longer. I have"--