"This isn't a tavern. We couldn't get breakfast for a stage-load
of people."
"What have you got a sign up fur, then?" roared the driver, getting
red in the face.
"That's so," cried two or three men from the top of the stage. "If
it aint a tavern, what's that sign doin' there?"
I saw I must do something. I stepped up close to the stage and
looked in and up.
"Are there any sailors in this stage?" I said. There was no
response. "Any soldiers? Any farmers or mechanics?"
At the latter question I trembled, but fortunately no one answered.
"Then," said I, "you have no right to ask to be accommodated; for,
as you may see from the sign, our house is only for soldiers,
sailors, farmers, and mechanics."
"And besides," cried Euphemia from the piazza, "we haven't anything
to give you for breakfast."
The people in and on the stage grumbled a good deal at this, and
looked as if they were both disappointed and hungry, while the
driver ripped out an oath, which, had he thrown it across a creek,
would soon have made a good-sized millpond.
He gathered up his reins and turned a sinister look on me.
"I'll be even with you, yit," he cried as he dashed off.
In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had
stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some
coffee, bread and butter and ham and eggs, though they had had to
wait their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver
had quarreled with the Lowry people that morning because the
breakfast was behindhand and he was kept waiting.
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