"How, Dick?"
"Well, when I told him he couldn't see you because you had driven over to Hawkhurst, the fellow positively couldn't sit still—deuced nervous, y'know,—though probably owing to drink. 'Hawkhurst!' says he, staring at me as if I were a ghost, my dear fellow, 'yes,' says I, 'and the door's open, sir!' 'I see it is,' says he, sitting tight. 'But you must get him back!' 'Can't be done!' says I. 'Are you his friend?' says he. 'I hope so,' says I. 'Then,' says he, before I could remind him of the door again, 'then you must get him back— at once!' I asked him why, but he only stared and shook his head, and so took himself off. I'll own the fellow shook me rather, Bev, —he seemed so very much in earnest, but, knowing where you were, I wouldn't have disturbed you for the world if it hadn't been for the horses."
"Ah, yes—the horses!" said Barnabas thoughtfully. "How is your arm now, Dick?"
"A bit stiff, but otherwise right as a trivet, Bev. But now—about yourself, my dear fellow,—what on earth possessed you to lay Carnaby such a bet? What a perfectly reckless fellow you are! Of course the money is as good as in Carnaby's pocket already, not to mention Chichester's—damn him! As I told you in my letter, the affair has gone the round of the clubs,—every one is laughing at the 'Galloping Countryman,' as they call you. Jerningham came within an ace of fighting Tufton Green of the Guards about it, but the Marquis is deuced knowing with the barkers, and Tufton, very wisely, thought better of it. Still, I'm afraid the name will stick—!"
"And why not, Dick? I am a countryman, indeed quite a yokel in many ways, and I shall certainly gallop—when it comes to it."
"Which brings us back to the horses, Bev. I 've been thinking we ought to get 'em away—into the country—some quiet place like—say, the—the 'Spotted Cow,' Bev."
"Yes, the 'Spotted Cow' should do very well; especially as Clemency—"
"Talking about the horses, Bev," said the Viscount, sitting up in bed and speaking rather hurriedly, "I protest, since the rascally attempt on 'Moonraker' last night, I've been on pins and needles, positively,—nerve quite gone, y'know, Bev. If 'Moonraker' didn't happen to be a horse, he'd be a mare,—of course he would,—but I mean a nightmare. I've thought of him all day and dreamed of him all night, oh, most cursed, y'know! Just ring for my fellow, will you, Bev?—I'll get up, and we'll go round to the stables together."
"Quite unnecessary, Dick."
"Eh? Why?"