"If they'd get a new organist," he remarked, with ferocious satire, five minutes later, as he lit a cigar, "and a new choir—I could see summat in that."
In another minute he was driving at a fine pace towards his colliery at Toft End. The horse, with swift instinct, had understood that to-day its master was not in the mood for badinage.
Half-way down the hill into Shawport he overtook a lady walking very slowly.
"Mrs Sutton!" he shouted in astonishment, and when he had finished with the tense frown which involuntarily accompanied the effort of stopping the horse dead within its own length, his face softened into a beautiful smile. "How's this?" he questioned.
"Our mare's gone lame," Mrs Sutton answered, "and as I'm bound to get about I'm bound to walk."
He descended instantly from the dogcart. "Climb up," he said, "and tell me where you want to go to."
"Nay, nay."
"Climb up," he repeated, and he helped her into the dogcart.
"Well," she said, laughing, "what must be, must. I was trudging home, and I hope it isn't out of your way."
"It isn't," he said; "I'm for Toft End, and I should have driven up Trafalgar Road anyhow."