Daniel shook his head. “Mud-colour Oi should call the offside hoss.”
“Well, there’s black mud, ain’t there?”
“Nearside hoss seems wheezy,” Daniel said sympathetically, as it snorted with impatience.
“Wheezy? Cherry-blossom? Why, he could run ten miles more without turning a hair.”
“Why, he’s sweatin’ like one o’clock!”
“So am I.” Will wiped his forehead furiously. “But that’s only the weather.”
“Hosses don’t want to sweat when there’s nowt to carry.”
For a moment Will was knocked breathless. Recovering, he smiled complacently. “Why, it’s all delivered. And it was a deliverance. A terrible load. Phew!”
“Nothing to ours! Lord, what a mort o’ custom! Look at that whopping box we’ve just carried in.” He pointed to the ante-room. “And all they other boxes!” he added with an inspiration, staring at the lumber of his deceased and scattered family.
“Oh, I know,” Will conceded graciously, “that there are folks that stick to Jinny—I mean to you—for old sake’s sake.”