“No, old lady,” said he, “I am afraid it wouldn’t be playing the game.”
Nevertheless, immediately luncheon was over, Jim took the key of his studio off the sitting-room chimney-piece, and went forth to the misshapen wooden erection in the small Balham back garden. The key turned in the lock stiffly. It was nearly three weeks since it had last been in it. For several hours he worked joyfully, touching and retouching the picture and improvising small details out of his head. And all the time the Goose Girl smiled upon him in the old Widdiford manner. Her hair had never looked so yellow, and her eyes had never looked so blue.
CHAPTER XVII
DEVELOPMENT OF THE FEMALE US
THE next morning, a little before eleven, the wonderful Miss Perry, accompanied by the admirable Mr. Bryant, was approaching Apsley House when the figure of a solitary horseman was to be seen. It had a combination of unexpectedness and familiarity which fixed Miss Perry’s attention. She gave a little exclamation. The horseman was unmistakably Jim Lascelles.
Jim received a most affectionate greeting.
“You are just in time,” said he. “It is a near thing. Gobo is yonder in the offing. I was afraid he would get here before you.”
Miss Perry was delighted but perplexed by a suggestion that Jim put forward. It was that they should go down the left while Gobo rode up on the right.
“But I promised Gobo,” she said.
“Look here, Goose Girl,” said Jim, with tremendous resolution, “do you suppose I have invested the last half-sovereign I have in the world on the worst hack in London, to be cut out by that old duffer? Come on round, you Goose, before he gets up.”
Really Miss Perry is not to be blamed. Jim Lascelles was resolution incarnate once he had made up his mind. Jim’s horse, a nondescript who does not merit serious notice, walked a few paces briskly, the chestnut followed its example, as chestnuts will, and the next thing was Jim’s horse broke into a canter. The chestnut did the same. Of course it was Miss Perry’s business to see that the chestnut did nothing of the sort. But it has to be recorded that she failed in her obvious duty. And then, so swift is the road to destruction, in less time than it takes to inform the incredulous reader, the chestnut and the nondescript began literally to fly down Rotten Row.