“Well, finish it up in a hurry,” said Patsy, “for he’s waitin’ till you come.”
“Get off that chist!” cried Larry, polishing away at the bit, as Patsy made to take his seat on a big corn-bin whose lid did duty for a table. “Get off that chist, or I’ll land you a wan wid me fut.”
Patsy got off the chest.
Mr Lyburn was very touchy about a lot of things, and he expressed himself directly; it was part of the cardboard nature of the individual: he had no nuances of expression.
He had cleaned the bit with sand, he was now polishing it with a chamois-leather and loving tenderness. If Larry was a living example of what horses can do for a man, the harness room was an object-lesson of what a man can do for harness. It was good to look at the glossy, nut-brown, pig-skin saddles on their rests, the suits of carriage harness, each complete and in its proper place.
“Lave down that whip, or I’ll be takin’ the butt of it to you!” cried Larry.
Patsy put the whip aside and waited, making no attempt at conversation, which he knew would be useless.
When the bit was polished to satisfaction and placed aside, Larry looked around to see that everything was in its place, blew out the stable lantern, closed the door, and prepared to follow Patsy into the house.
It will be noticed that he did not enquire of Patsy what business Mr Fanshawe wanted him upon.
Led by Patsy, he entered the house by the kitchen entrance.