"Take your seats, please," said Archie. "The horses are sick of waiting."
We sat down. Archie took Dahlia's feet on his lap, Myra took mine, Miss Cardew took Thomas's. Simpson, alone in front, nursed a guide-book.
"En avant!" cried Simpson in his best French-taught-in-twelve-lessons accent.
Gaspard muttered an oath to his animals. They pulled bravely. The rope snapped—and they trotted gaily down the hill with Gaspard.
We hurried after them with the luges....
"It's a good joke," said Archie, after this had happened three times, "but, personally, I weary of it. Miss Cardew, I'm afraid we've brought you out under false pretences. Thomas didn't explain the thing to you adequately. He gave you to understand that there was more in it than this."
Gaspard, who seemed full of rope, produced a fourth piece and tied a knot that made even Simpson envious.
"Now, Samuel," I begged, "do keep the line taut this time. Why do you suppose we put your apricot suit right in the front? Is it, do you suppose, for the sunset effects at eleven o'clock in the morning, or is it that you may look after the rope properly?"
"I'm awfully sorry, Miss Cardew," said Simpson, feeling that somebody ought to apologize for something and knowing that Gaspard wouldn't, "but I expect it will be all right now."
We settled down again. Once more Gaspard cursed his horses, and once more they started off bravely. And this time we went with them.