"She's not, then. How would the likes of her?"
"She will, though. We shall have to slow down. Look ahead."
A heavy farm wagon drawn by three horses had appeared over the crest of the hill, and was lumbering down with skidpans adjusted, and occupying three-fourths of the roadway.
"It's the way we'd see a collision," said the Irishman, chortling. The prospect had evidently no terrors for him. Eves, on the other hand, for all his delight in a rag, felt by no means easy in mind.
"Slow down, Bob," he cried, anxiously, at the same time hauling in the sheet until the sail stood almost parallel with the side of the vehicle.
Templeton made no reply; but knowing from experience that the road yacht was a likely source of anxiety to horses he slowed down, at the imminent risk of stopping entirely, and steered well into the hedge. The carter hurried to the leader's head and pulled in to his side of the road, giving only a gaping stare as the yacht grazed the off wheels of his wagon and the hedge on the other side.
"As good a bit of steering as ever I saw," cried the Irishman. "Did you get a whiff of the mangolds?"
"I was expecting to be mangled," said Eves, grimly. "I say, Bob, the wind's dead ahead, and the sail's no bally good."
"Lower it, man, lower it," said Templeton. "We'll be all right at the next turn."
The yacht was crawling painfully to the top of the hill when there came from behind the sound of a hooter. Eves and the Irishman looked back. A large car had just rounded the bend below, and was mounting the hill with a great roaring and rattling, distinctly audible above the noise of their own straining engine.