wise. There's no dependence on any coachman; and perhaps as he may be
sure of business enough this rainy night he may never come at
all--being already paid for bringing you here."

Now, the truth was that the coachman _had_ come at the appointed time,
but the noise of Jane's piano had prevented his arrival being heard in
the back parlor. The Irish girl had gone to the door when he rang the
bell, and recognized in him what she called "an ould friend." Just
then a lady and gentleman who had been caught in the rain came running
along, and seeing a carriage drawing up at a door, the gentleman
inquired of the driver if he could not take them to Rutgers Place. The
driver replied that he had just come for two ladies and a gentleman
whom he had brought from the Astor House.

"Indeed and Patrick," said the girl who stood at the door, "if I was
you I'd be after making another penny to-night. Miss Jane is pounding
away at one of her long music pieces, and it won't be over before you
have time to get to Rutgers and back again. And if you do make them
wait awhile, where's the harm? They've a dry roof over their heads,
and I warrant it's not the first waiting they've ever had in their
lives; and it won't be the last neither."

"Exactly so," said the gentleman; and regardless of the propriety of
first sending to consult the persons who had engaged the carriage, he
told his wife to step in, and following her instantly himself, they
drove away to Rutgers Place.

Reader, if you were ever detained in a strange house by the
non-arrival of your carriage, you will easily understand the excessive
annoyance of finding that you are keeping a family out of their beds