"If you want to add blasphemy to horse-slaughtering as a profession, do," Tietjens said. "But you'll have to pay for the horse."
"I'm damned if I will," the General shouted. "I tell you you were driving into my drive."
"Then I shall," Tietjens said, "and you know the construction you'll put on that."
He straightened his back to look at the horse.
"Go away," he said, "say what you like. Do what you like! But as you go through Rye send up the horse-ambulance from the vet's. Don't forget that. I'm going to save this horse. . . ."
"You know, Chris," the General said, "you're the most wonderful hand with a horse . . . There isn't another man in England . . ."
"I know it," Tietjens said. "Go away. And send up that ambulance. . . . There's your sister getting out of your car. . . ."
The General began:
"I've an awful lot to get explained . . ." But, at a thin scream of: "General! General!" he pressed on his sword hilt to keep it from between his long, black, scarlet-striped legs, and running to the car pushed back into its door a befeathered, black bolster. He waved his hand to Tietjens:
"I'll send the ambulance," he called.