"Blest if I can get alongside the pavement then," he grumbled. He was a surly man.
"Never mind that. Pull up opposite Number 402 and I'll slip between. I've only my bag to carry."
"Didn't know folks was so gay in these outlyin' parts," he commented sourly, and closed the trap, but presently opened it again. His horse had dropped to a walk. "Did you say four-nought-two?" he asked.
"Oh, confound it—yes!" I was growing impatient.
He pulled up and began to turn the horse's head.
"Hi! What are you doing?"
"Goin' back to the end of the line—back to take our bloomin' turn," he answered wearily. "Four-nought-two, you said, didn't you?"
"Yes, yes; are you deaf? What have I to do with this crowd?"
"I hain't deaf, but I got eyes. Four-nought-two's where the horning's up, that's all."
"The horning? What's that?"