“Play lead and supply your own horses.”
“Don’t be a fool—or try to make me one. I’m a plain farmer.”
Tony grinned. “Jinny don’t seem to think ’em suitable for plain farming. I reckon you’d better set up as undertaker. They’ll go lovely with a hearse. All you need is a corpse.”
“And I shan’t be long finding one!” hissed Will.
Tony clapped his hands. “That’s the style. Lord, man, what a wasted actor!”
Jinny could not suppress a smile. It brought Will’s temper to breaking-point. “These horses at least won’t be wasted,” he said to her at a white heat. “For I’ll take our friend’s advice.”
“Harness ’em to a hearse?” murmured Jinny.
“No, to a coach. I’ll put an end, miss, to your mannish ways.”
“Indeed!” Jinny bridled up, without, however, quite following the threat.
“You’ve done for yourself,” he explained. “You’ve forced me into competition. You’ve got me the horses—there’s no end of out-of-work coaches on the market to be got for an old song. I’ll carry passengers and luggage faster and cheaper than you, and heavier stuff too, and I’ll wipe you out.”