ould pass through Shrewsbury
the next morning. The waiter added, that I could book a
place--conditionally--by either of these vehicles; and that, as they
were always well-filled, I had better be quick in making my choice
between them. Matters had now arrived at such a pass, that nothing was
left for me but to trust to chance. If I waited till the morning to see
whether Screw and the Bow Street runner traveled in my direction, and to
find out, in case they did, which coach they took, I should be running
the risk of losing a place for myself, and so delaying my journey for
another day. This was not to be thought of. I told the waiter to book me
a place in which coach he pleased. The two were called respectively The
Humming Bee, and The Red Cross Knight. The waiter chose the latter.

Sleep was not much in my way that night. I rose almost as early as Boots
himself--breakfasted--then sat at the coffee-room window looking out
anxiously for the two coaches.

Nobody seemed to agree which would pass first. Each of the inn servants
of whom I inquired made it a matter of partisanship, and backed his
favorite coach with the most consummate assurance. At last, I heard the
guard's horn and the clatter of the horses' hoofs. Up drove a coach--I
looked out cautiously--it was the Humming Bee. Three outside places were
vacant; one behind the coachman; two on the dickey. The first was taken
immediately by a farmer, the second---to my unspeakable disgust and
terror--was secured by the inevitable Bow Street runner; who, as soon as
h e was up, helped the weakly Screw into the third place, by his side.
They were going to Crickgelly; not a doubt of it, now.

I grew mad with impatience for the arrival of the Red Cross Knight.
Half-an-hour passed--forty minutes--and then I heard another horn and
another clatter--and the Red Cross Knight rattled up to the hotel door
at full speed. What if there should be no vacant place for me! I ran
to the door with a sinking heart. Outside, the coach was declared to be
full.

"There is one inside place," said the waiter, "if you don't mind paying
the--"

Before he could say the rest, I was occupying that one inside place. I
remember nothing of the journey from the time we left the hotel door,
except that it was fearfully long. At some hour of the day with which I
was not acquainted (for my watch had stopped for want of winding up), I
was set down in a clean little street of a prim little town (the name of