“Who’ll swear?” said Erebus.
“The Cruncher. And you’re a girl and Wiggins is too young to hear such language,” said the Terror.
“Rubbish!” said Erebus sharply. “Tell us what it is.”
The Terror shook his head.
“It’s a beastly shame! I ought to help—I always do,” cried Erebus in a bitterly aggrieved tone.
The Terror shook his head.
“All right,” said Erebus. “Who wants to help in a stupid thing like that? But all the same you’ll go and make a silly mull of it without me—you always do.”
“You jolly well wait and see,” said the Terror with calm confidence.
Erebus was still muttering darkly about piggishness when they reached the house.
They went into the drawing-room in a body and found Captain Baster still talking to their mother, in the middle, indeed, of a long story illustrating his prowess in a game of polo, on two three-hundred-guinea and one three-hundred-and-fifty-guinea ponies. He laid great stress on the prices he had paid for them.