And Teddy puffed his cigar and chewed the cud of that proud moment.
“Where are our horses, Teddy?” asked Dick. “Coming down by a special train?”
“Oh, they are mounting me,” said Teddy. “Trevor-Hudson always keeps a couple of his best for me. What are you doing?”
“Following on a bicycle,” replied Dick. “My five grooms and six horses haven't turned up.”
“My dear Shafthead,” said I, “I shall lend you one of mine.”
“Many thanks,” he answered, with gratitude, no doubt, but with less enthusiasm than I should have expected. “Unfortunately I've seen 'em.”
“And do you not care to ride them?” I asked, with some disappointment, I confess.
“Not alone,” said Dick. “If you'll lend me Halfred to sit behind and keep the beast steady I don't mind trying.”
“Very well,” I said, with a shrug.
This strain of a brutality that is peculiarly British occasionally disfigures my dear Dick. Yet I continue to love him—judge, then, of his virtues.