‘Then you and me are going to have a field day, Mr Prowse,’ said a fat, asthmatical Cardiff Jew, who had just arrived in the doorway.
‘Ah, Mr Myers, how is it then?’ said the farmer. ‘Mr May says he’s put you and me to sleep in the same room. There’s a young woman in the front.’
‘A young woman?’ growled Myers. ‘What’s a young woman doing here at this time?’
‘The more of them the better!’ said the farmer, with a laugh.
‘No. . . . I’ve got over all that,’ said the Jew, shaking his head.
‘Now, what are you two gentlemen taking with me?’ asked the landlord.
They all settled down to talk about horses. Abner was getting more and more hungry and wondering when Mary would come downstairs. The sight of that magnificent array of food whetted his appetite, but he did not want to be the first to begin. He drew himself a mug of cider from the cask: a dry, half bitter product of the Hereford orchards. He drank a pint of it, and the alcohol, taken on an empty stomach, made him happy and confident. He no longer felt uneasy that Mary was so long away.
Now he had not long to wait for his supper, for Prowse and Myers came in from the bar, and in a few moments other men arrived. They all carved for themselves huge segments of pie and rich slices of ham with knives that were whetted thin with use. Abner took his place among them. Nobody spoke to him, for he seemed to be the only stranger in the company. Many of them had not seen their friends for a whole year, since their last meeting in the same place. Twilight came, and the lamps were lit. The buyers sat on talking and drinking at the tables, running with one accord to door or window when the hoofs of some horse that had been brought to the fair for sale were heard trotting down the road.
‘Jenkins wants to sell that there cob to-night rather than take him to Bron,’ said Myers.
‘Never buy a horse you don’t see by daylight,’ Prowse replied, shaking his clay pipe to mark the words.