To whom, thusly, the Viscount, speaking both to him and the horses:
"Oh, there you are, Bev—stand still, damn you! There's blood for you, eh, my dear fellow—devil burn your hide! Jump up, my dear fellow—Gad, they're pulling my arms off."
"Then you want me to come with you, Dick?"
"My dear Bev, of course I do—stand still, damn you—though we are rivals, we're friends first—curse your livers and bones—so jump up, Bev, and—oh dammem, there's no holding 'em—quick, up with you."
Now, as Barnabas stepped forward, afar off up the lane he chanced to espy a certain jaunty hat, and immediately, acting for once upon impulse, he shook his head.
"No, thanks," said he.
"Eh—no?" repeated the Viscount, "but you shall see her, I'll introduce you myself."
"Thanks, Dick, but I've decided not to go back."
"What, you won't come then?"
"No."