"Yes, the accident," the doctor answered in his smooth, kindly voice—though it would have given him great relief to have boxed the ears of his beery guide.
"I was driving master home, sir. It's not our trap. We don't keep one. We hires in the village, but the man as the trap belongs to couldn't go. So I drove, sir."
Movement had stirred up the fumes of alcohol in this barrel! Oh, the interminable repetitions, the horrid incapacity for getting to the point of men who were drunk! Lives of the utmost value had been lost by fools like this—great events in the history of the world had turned upon an extra pot of beer! But patience, patience!
"Yes, you drove, and the horse stumbled. Did the horse come right down?"
"I'm not much of a whip, sir, as you may say, though I know about ordinary driving. They say that a sailor-man is no good with a horse. But that isn't true."
Yet despite the irritation of his mind, the necessity for absolute self-control, the expert found time to make a note of this further instance of the intolerable egotism that alcohol induces in its slaves.
"But I expect you drove very well, indeed! Then the horse did not come right down!"
Just at the right moment, carefully calculated to have its effect, the doctor's voice became sharper and had a ring of command in it.
There was an instant response.
"No, sir. The cob only stumbled. But master was sitting loose like. He fell out like a log, sir. He made a noise like a piece of luggage falling."