round yielding waists, hands lay
in digestive poses, and eyes were bathed in deep animal indolences.

Conversation had almost ceased. The bar-girls had not whispered one
single word for more than an hour; Muchross had not shouted for at
least twenty minutes; the only interruption that had occurred was an
unexpected stopping of the coach, for the off-leader was pulling
Dicky so hard that he had to ask Jem to take the ribbons, and now he
snoozed in the great whip's place, seriously incommoding Snowdown
with his great weight. Suddenly awaking to a sense of his
responsibility Muchross roared--

"What about the milk-cans?"

"You'd better be quick," answered Jem, "we shall be there in five
minutes."

One of the customs of the road was a half-crown lottery, the winning
member to be decided by the number of milk-cans outside a certain
farm-house.

"Ease off a bit, Jem," bawled Muchross. "Damn you! give us time to
get the numbers out."

"It ain't my fault if you fall asleep."

"The last stage was five miles this side of Cuckfield, you ought to
know the road by this time. How many are we?"

"Eight," shouted Dicky, blowing the blatant horn. "You're on, Jem,
aren't you? Number two or three will get it; at this time of the year
milk is scarce. Pass on the hat quick; quick, you devil, pass it on.
What have you got, Kitty?"

"Just like my luck," cried Muchross; "I've got eight."

"And I've seven," said Snowdown; "never have I won yet. In the autumn
I get sevens and eights, in the summer ones and twos. Damn!"

"I've got five," said Kitty, "and Mike has got two; always the lucky
one. A lady leaves him four thousand a year, and he comes down here
and rooks us."

The coach swept up a gentle ascent, and Muchross shouted--

"Two milk-cans! Hand him over the quid and chuck him out!"

The downs rose, barring the sky; and they passed along the dead level
of the weald, leaving Henfield on their right; and when a great piece
of Gothic masonry appeared between some trees, Mike told Kitty how it
had been once John Norton's intention to build a monastery.

"He would have founded a monastery had he lived two centuries ago,"
said Harding; "but this is an age of concessions, and instead he puts
up a few gargoyles. Time modifies but does not eradicate, and the
modern King Cophetua marries not the beggar, but the bar-maid."

The conversation fell in silence, full of consternation; and all
wondered if the two ladies in front had und