The coach was a big vehicle, something after the style of a bus, the tilt and seats running parallel with the wheels. At the rear end, instead of a door, was a great tail-board, on the principle of a spring-cart. This was let down, and, after we scrambled over it into our seats, it was fixed half-mast, all the luggage piled thereon, and firmly roped into position. When this was completed, to any one on the ground only the heads of passengers were visible above the pile. Had the coach capsized we would have been in a nice fix, as the only means of exit was by crawling up through the back of the box-seat, which rose breast-high — an awkward feat.

Frank Hawden and I parted good friends. I leant out and waved my handkerchief, until a bend of the road hid him from sight.

It was noon, the thermometer registered 112 degrees in the shade, and the dust was simply awful. It rose in such thick grey clouds that often it was impossible to discern the team of five which pulled us, and there was danger of colliding with passing vehicles. We were very much crowded, there being sixteen passengers. When we settled down and got started, I discovered that I was the only representative of my sex, and that I was sandwiched between a perky youth in his teens and a Chinaman, while a black fellow and a man with a red beard sat opposite. A member of Parliament, farther up the seat, who had been patronizing New Year’s Day races in a portion of his electorate, bawled loudly to his companion about “the doin’s of the ‘Ouse”. In the perky youth I discovered a professional jockey; and when he found that I was a daughter of Dick Melvyn, the one-time great horse-breeder, he became very friendly. He gave me a couple of apples out of his tin box under the seat, from whence he also produced his whip for my inspection, and was good enough to say:

“If you can’t stand the stink of that bloomin’ chow, miss, just change seats with me. I’ve knocked about, so that I can easy stand some tough smells without much inconvenience.”

I cautioned him to talk lower for fear of hurting the Chinaman’s feelings: this amused him immensely. He laughed very much, and, leaning over to the red-bearded man, repeated the joke:

“I say, this young lady is afraid I might hurt the chow’s feelin’s. Golly! Fancy a bloomin’ chow havin’ any!”

The other man also thought it a great joke. I changed seats with the jockey, which put me beside a young gentleman of a literary turn of mind, with whom I had some conversation about books when the dust, rumble of wheels, and turf talk of my other neighbour permitted. They were all very kind to me — gave me fruit, procured me drinks of water, and took turns in nursing a precious hat, for which, on account of the crush, no s............