"Not yet," I said. "Don't anticipate. How much?"
"Six months' 'ard, I should say," he replied slowly, "and let down easy at that, gettin' into a private broom wiv yeller wheels an' frightenin' an honest man out of his blooming life. Look at the perspiration on my forehead."
He took off his hat, and bent his head toward the lamp, that my view might be the better.
"I had already noticed that you were rather hot," I said shortly, "but had in error attributed it to the clemency of the weather. But pray be covered. I would not have your blood also upon my soul. The air strikes cold."
"Go hon," he said with ponderous sarcasm. "Go hon. Hi am all ears."
"No, no," I said hastily, "not all. Do yourself justice, man."
"Justice," he said bitterly. "Justice. I wonder you 'ave the face to—"
"Be thankful that one of us has a face to have," I said shortly. "Among other maladies you suffer from irritation of the palm. Yes?"
He stared at me.
"Don't know about the palm in particular," he said, after a while, "but being so much with the 'orses it do tend to—"