The little man gathered himself. He was very grim, curling his lips inward and whistling between his teeth as though to relieve inward pressure.
"How long have you ridden for 'em?" asked the fat man.
"Twenty-five year," the other answered, with the quiet of one labouring under a great emotion.
The other rumbled out his ironical laughter.
"And now they chuck you," he said. "Too old at forty. What?"
The little man spat on the ground.
"Blast 'em," he said. "Blast you. Blast the lot. It's a bloody world."
CHAPTER XXXIV
The Lovers' Quarrel
Boy did not appear at dinner.