A little red ball was run up an improvised pole. Old Mat was waving.
"All right," he called.
The girl led Goosey Gander out of the Paddock into the field at the back. Women in parti-coloured shawls selling oranges, labourers, riff-raff, and children were gathered about the merry-go-rounds and cocoanut-shies, listening apathetically to the hoarse exhortations of the owners to come and try their luck.
Silver followed the girl thoughtfully.
She led the winner past the side-shows toward the group of stately elms under which the carriages and carts were gathered.
The ejected stable-lad, Albert Edward, now in his shirt-sleeves, came toward her, carrying a bucket. The girl rinsed out the old horse's mouth. Then with swift, accustomed fingers she unlaced the leather-boots, and set to work to unwind a bandage.
Jim Silver watched her attentively and then began clumsily on the other bandage.
"No," she said. "Like so," and taking it from him unwound it in a trice.
The old horse shook himself.
"Go and fetch his rug from the buggy," ordered the girl, addressing Albert.