Jinny grew white, but at the venom of his words, not their business significance. Her instinct retorted with a smile. “And I got you the horn, too, don’t forget that.”
“I don’t—I was thinking of that. It’s all your doing—and serve you jolly well right.” He turned sneeringly to Mr. Flippance. “So I won’t be a wasted musician either.”
“Oho!” said Jinny. “And shall we see you on the box-seat all a-crowing and a-blowing?”
“I know you still think I can’t blow—but you shall see.”
“Seeing isn’t believing,” said Jinny.
“Had you there, old cock,” said Tony.
“She knows what I mean, right enough. I’ll start a coach-service ’twixt Little Bradmarsh and Chipstone, ay and farther too, passengers inside, luggage on the roof. I’ll wake up this sleepy old spot.” And his vigour seemed to communicate itself to his horses: they caracoled and stamped.
“Better let sleeping spots lie,” said Jinny. “I thought you hated Yankee going-ahead.”
“It’ll save you going ahead, anyhow,” said Will. “Why didn’t you let things sleep?”
“Me! How could I help helping Gran’fer?”