Mr. F. (lets down his window, and leans out). Peacock!
The Shadow. Sir?
Mr. F. Where have we got to now?
Peacock. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.
Mrs. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.
Mr. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.
Peacock. I dursn't leave the kerb—all I got to go by, Sir.
Mr. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.
Peacock. It's the young 'orse, Sir.
Mr. F. (sinking back). We must put up with it, I suppose.