been blown over, the vixenish mare was so light, and the gig was so light, and Tom Smart such a light weight into the bargain, that they must infallibly have all gone rolling over and over together, until they reached the confines of earth, or until the wind fell; and in either case the probability is, that neither the vixenish mare, nor the clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, nor Tom Smart, would ever have been fit for service again.

“ ‘Well, damn my straps and whiskers,’ says Tom Smart (Tom sometimes had an unpleasant knack of swearing)⁠—‘damn my straps and whiskers,’ says Tom, ‘if this ain’t pleasant, blow me!’