“I don’t see what I should do with a horse,” said Tony, “seeing that I’m setting up the Flippance Palace Theatre as a local landmark. Of course I might have a play written round him,” he mused, “or even round ’em both. They would certainly ‘draw’ all Chipstone, especially with a carriage behind ’em. Odd, isn’t it? There’ll be scores of carriages waiting outside my theatre, yet to see one on the stage gives everybody a thrill. Lord, how the public does love to see natural things in unnatural places! As my old pa used to say—my real pa, I mean—put an idiot on the stage and he gives pleasure, put him in the stalls and he writes dramatic criticism! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Then you do want ’em?” said Will eagerly.
“If you’re ready to bring in the noble animals as part of the capital, I’ll look around for a dramatist to work ’em in.”
“You’d best look around for a capitalist,” retorted Will in angry disappointment. “I’ve told you before, I’m going into farming.”
“Then you’ll want the horses yourself.”
“They’re no good for farming,” Jinny corrected.
“Ain’t they?” said Tony, surveying them with a fresh eye. “Then why did he buy them?”
Will got angrier. “That’s my business. Do you want them or not?”
“I can always do with anything. A play’s a pie you can shove anything into. You’d look bully yourself, as you Americans say, riding just as you are: just a cowboy costume, that’s all you need. Will you do it?”
“Will I do what?”