He looked back over the top of the coach
down the road to see what had become of the driver. To his great joy,
he saw him running up behind the coach, - his hat crushed out of shape,
and his clothes dusty. The passengers looked out at the windows of the
stage, exclaiming,
"Why, driver! what's the matter?"
The driver made no reply. He began to brush his clothes, - and, taking
off his hat, he attempted to round it out into shape again.
"What _is_ the matter, driver?" said the passengers.
"Nothing," replied he, "only that drunkard of a sailor tumbled off the
stage."
"Where?" "When?" exclaimed half a dozen voices. "Is he killed?"
"Killed? no," replied the driver; "I don't believe he is even
sobered."
Forester and another gentleman then urgently asked where he was, and
the driver told them that he was "back there a piece," as he expressed
it.
"What! lying in the road?" said Forester; "open the door, and let us
go and see to him."
"No," said the driver; "he has got off to the side of the road, safe.
I don't believe he's hurt any. Let him take care of himself, and we'll
drive on."
But Forester remonstrated strongly against leaving the poor sailor in
such a condition, and in such a place; and finally it was agreed that
the farmer should go down the road and see to him, so as to allow the
stage-coach with the passengers to go on.
