'Is this Cloisterham?' demanded the passenger, in a tremendous
voice.

'It is,' replied the driver, rubbing himself as if he ached, after
throwing the reins to the ostler. 'And I never was so glad to see
it.'

'Tell your master to make his box-seat wider, then,' returned the
passenger. 'Your master is morally bound--and ought to be legally,
under ruinous penalties--to provide for the comfort of his fellow-
man.'

The driver instituted, with the palms of his hands, a superficial
perquisition into the state of his skeleton; which seemed to make
him anxious.

'Have I sat upon you?' asked the passenger.

'You have,' said the driver, as if he didn't like it at all.

'Take that card, my friend.'

'I think I won't deprive you on it,' returned the driver, casting
his eyes over it with no great favour, without taking it. 'What's
the good of it to me?'

'Be a Member of that Society,' said the passenger.

'What shall I get by it?' asked the driver.