“But he did, father. Fishpingle told you in my presence, just after luncheon, as you and I were going to look at the horse I rode yesterday.”
Sir Geoffrey glared at both butler and son.
“Just like him,” he snorted. “Ben knows perfectly well that a new horse, if he’s a decently bred ’un, drives everything else out of my head. Order the coal, Ben. Wire for a truck.”
“Very good, Sir Geoffrey.”
The Squire crossed to the hearth and sat down in Fishpingle’s big chair. He frowned portentously, muttering:
“I am most confoundedly upset.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Sir Geoffrey.”
“Tchah! I’m not speaking of the coal, nor the pigs. This is Tuesday. Does Alfred go out on Tuesday?”
“I let him go this afternoon, Sir Geoffrey.”
“Did you know that Tuesday was Prudence Rockley’s afternoon off?”