“If you please, Mr. Lamotte,” said that gentleman’s coachman, appearing before his master, less than an hour before the time appointed for the moving of the funeral cortege, and looking much confused. “If you please, sir, I’ve had a misfortune with my hand, sir; at least, my wrist; it’s sort of sprained, and I most fear I can’t handle the reins proper, for the horses is mighty full of life, bein’ so little used of late.”
“Well, well,” broke in Mr. Lamotte. “I suppose you can get a man to fill your place?”
The man’s countenance brightened at once.
“Oh, yes, sir; I’ve the very man right on hand. A friend of mine, and a master one with horses.”
“Let him take your place then, and see that every thing is in proper order.”
“It’s all right,” said the coachman, returning to the stables, and a
