There was a smacking exchange of kisses; and the coaches, having been packed at length, started for home to the strains of the cornet and a chorus of cheers.
Mr.Jope sprang in beside me, and leaning out of the farther window, waved his neckerchief for a while, then pensively readjusted it, and called to the driver-- "St.Budeaux!" The driver, after a moment, turned heavily in his seat, and answered, "Nonsense!" "I tell ye, I want to drive to St.Budeaux, by Saltash Ferry." "And _I_ tell _you_, 'Get out!' St.Budeaux?
The idea!" "Why, what's wrong with St.Budeaux ?" "Oh, I'm not goin' to _argue_ with you," said the driver.

"I'm goin' home." And he began to turn his horse's head.

Mr.Jope sprang out upon the roadway.

The driver, with sudden and unexpected agility, dropped off--on the other side.
"Look here, it's grindin' the faces of the poor!" he pleaded, breathing hard.
"It _will_ be," assented Mr.Jope grimly.
"I been up all night: at a ball." "If it comes to that, so've I: at Symonds's." "Mine was at Admiralty House," said the driver.

"I wasn' dancin'." "What about the horse ?" "The horse?
the ho--Oh, I take your meanin'! The horse is all right: he's a fresh one.