“There’s a chance for you, Jinny,” chaffed Caleb.
“Oh, how can you talk such nonsense!” Jinny was furiously angry. “Basket, Nip,” she called sharply, and climbed up to her seat almost as swiftly as he leapt into his.
“Are you coming, Mr. Skindle?” In her abstraction and to busy herself about something, she automatically removed the parcel of stones from the driving-seat.
“In a jiffy.” Elijah did not bound as obediently as Nip—he could not lose the chance to pontificate before her. “Not at all so well as you think, Mrs. Flynt. We experts can see what even the breeder can’t. Keep her upon corn and peas—give her just soft stuff.” And he vaulted not ungracefully to Jinny’s side.
“Thank you, sir,” said Martha, impressed. “Have you paid him?” she inquired of Caleb in a formidable whisper.
“Dedn’t Oi say Oi’d pay him for nawthen?” he answered still more audibly.
“Well, take off your hat for good-bye.”
“But Oi ain’t inside,” said the obstinate, if confused, Caleb.
Jinny cracked her whip fiercely, and Methusalem joyously turned his nose for home.
“Good night, Jinny. Thank’ee for reading Cousin Caroline’s letter,” Caleb called after the receding vehicle.