The Tailor-Made Girl/A Coaching Trip
A COACHING TRIP.
A Crumpled Rose-Leaf.
Miss Pompon.—Oh, I do feel that I owe Mr. Tandem such an apology.
Young Mr. F. (her companion).—Why, my dear Miss Pompon, you quite surprise me!
Miss Pompon.—Oh, but it is such a blow!
Mr. F.—What, pray? I am positively alarmed.
Miss Pompon.—Why, I fancied Mr. Tandem's coach had a dark-green body.
Mr. F.—Oh, and the bright red does not please you so well?
Miss Pompon.—Oh, it is not that—but don't you see? I have arranged my costume in Charles X. pink!
***
Box Seat Brilliancy.
Miss Gushington (who goes in for fascinating ignorance).—Oh, how charming this is! Fancy owning such a coach and such lovely horses, too!
Mr. Tandem.—Yes; one needs the horses, for a fact.
Miss Gushington.—Oh, yes—and they are such beauties, too—I just love these bays next to us!
Mr. T.—You mean the wheelers—they're chestnuts, though—
Miss G.—Oh, are they? I never can tell the difference; and, oh, are they off or nigh?
Mr. T.—Why, one, you know, is off, and the other nigh.
Miss G.—Why, of course! I am so wretchedly stupid.
Mr. T.—Oh, don't mention it!
Miss G.—Oh, but I am—and do tell me which is the off horse!
Mr. T. (pointing).—This one.
Miss G.—Is it, really? How very interesting!
Mr. T.—Oh, not at all!
Miss G.—But it is, you know—and that, of course, is the nigh one.
Mr. T.—Naturally.
Miss G.—Oh, yes—and why, please?
Mr. T. (feebly brilliant).—Oh, possibly, because he's further from the whip!
Miss G.—How very odd!
Mr. T.—Yes; it is odd.
Miss G.—Oh, extremely odd!
Mr. T.—Yes.
Miss G.—And you are the whip?
Mr. T.—Oh, come now, really, Miss Gushington!
Miss G.—Oh, I know you are. I have always heard you were such a whip!
***
On the Roof.
Miss Tilbury (one of the other sort).—I've been watching the off leader, Mr. Cropper, and I'm quite sure he interferes with his left hind-hoof.
Mr. C. (admiringly).—Now, do you know I should never have discovered that?
Miss T.—Shouldn't you, really? I noticed it at once. He's a fine beast otherwise.
Mr. C.—Yes, he goes well with his fellow.
Miss T.—Oh, they're matched to a hair!
Mr. C.—Yes, of course.
Miss T.—Do you bag, Mr. Cropper?
Mr. C. (who is not of the hunting set).—Well, no, hardly—that is, not much, you know.
Miss T.—You ought—it's such sport.
Mr. C.—Oh, yes, quite.
Miss T.—Oh, thorough. I ride with the Crisscross club.
Mr. C.—Do you, really?
Miss T.—Yes; I am trying a new mare now for the next meet.
Mr. C.—Is it so!
Miss T.—Yes; I do her across country every day when I am at home.
Mr. C.—How do you find her?
Miss T.—Oh, fairish—a poor jumper, though.
Mr. C.—Ah, that's rather bad.
Miss T.—Oh, very bad. How many bars do you take?
Mr. C.—Well—er—really, you know, I go out so seldom, still—three.
Miss T.—Three! Why, I take five and a barbed wire.
Mr. C. (gasping).—You don't say so!
***
Real Pleasure of Coaching.
Mrs. Married-belle.—How charming the day has turned out!
Mr. Blasé.—Ya'as.
Mrs. M.—I quite trembled for my toilet this morning.
Mr. B.—Ya'as, it was rather threatening.
Mrs. M.—And one has to coach, you know, rain or shine.
Mr. B.—Oh, ya'as, indeed. That's the sport.
Mrs. M.—Oh, do you think so?
Mr. B.—Oh, ya'as, indeed. That's all I coach for.
Mrs. M.—What, the rain?
Mr. B.—No; because you have to go in any weather.
Mrs. M.—How odd to like that!
Mr. B.—Oh, ya'as; it's like a dinner, you know.
Mrs. M.—I don't altogether follow.
Mr. B.—Oh, if you accept you must go.
Mrs. M.—Ah!
Mr. B.—And you must be on time.
Mrs. M.—Now I see.
Mr. B.—Ya'as; gives a zest, you know.
Mrs. M.—Then, I suppose, you only coach and dine?
Mr. B.—That's about all.
Mrs. M.—You might try running for a railway train.
Mr. B.—Oh, too fatiguing and quite too common!
