“Just what I want,” said Will enthusiastically. “And I’m willing to share and share alike.”
“Snacks?”
“Snacks!”
“It’s not a bad notion,” admitted the ancient.
“It’s a ripping notion.”
“Arter all, as you say, there’s no reason we should come into colloosion.” He dropped the knife back on the table, and looked out of the still open window.
“Ay, it’s a grand coach!” he gurgled.
“The talk of the countryside—only needs a turnpike road to beat the train!” said Will, expanding afresh. “Snowdrop and Cherry-blossom I call these horses for fun—because they’re so black, you see.”
“Ay, black as the devil! And hark at ’em pawin’—there’s fire and sperrit for you. That’s as foine a coach as ever Oi took up from. It’ll not look amiss with Quarles painted ’stead o’ Flynt.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Will quickly. “Flynt must remain. The Flynt Flyer—you can’t alter that.”