His wife coughed gently and made an errand to her sewing-table.
Ma had been gone upstairs for more than an hour, and the clock was getting on towards twelve.
The captain and the doctor were now sitting somewhat stupidly over the heeltaps in their mugs, a little like the dying tallow candles, which stood with neglected wicks, almost burned down into the sockets and running down.
"Keep your bay, Rist. Depend on me—he has got to get up early who takes me in on a horse—with my experience, you see. All the cavalry horses I have picked out in my time!"
The doctor sat looking down into his glass.
"You are thinking of the cribber," said the captain, getting into a passion; "but that was the most rascally villainy—pure cheating. He might have been taken into court for that—But, as I tell you, keep your bay."
"I have become a little tired of him, you see."
"See there, see there,—but that is your own fault and not the bay's, my boy. You are always tired of the beast you have. If you should count all the horses you have swapped, it would be a rare stable."
"They spoiled him for driving when he was a colt; he is one-sided, he is."
"That's all bosh. I should cure him of that in a fortnight, with a little breaking to harness."