The bet was eagerly taken by another man, and Carter found herself the center of interest.
“Enter the field, Miss Ayr of Virginia,” said Jim Stafford. “Only explain your method of procedure, and I’m your backer. What do you propose to do?” And with the arrant childishness of the average pleasure-seeker all the men present became absorbed in this incident, which offered a new and unexpected diversion.
All the women, meantime, were looking at the young Southern girl with cold disapprobation.
“Now, Miss Ayr of Virginia,” said Jim Stafford, “give your orders. How do you propose to do it?”
“Could we possibly get some mud from anywhere?” asked Carter.
“Mud? not likely, in this dust!” said one man, but Stafford cut him short.
“Mud? Of course. Nothing simpler!” he said. “Here, Trollope, get a bottle of Apollinaris out of the lunch-basket and break it in the road;” and as the groom flew to comply with his order he turned to Carter.
“We’ll have the mud in a jiffy,” he said. “Now, what’s to be done with it?”
“Stop the ox’s nostrils with it,” Carter decreed next.
The young dudes on the coach gave a little “Hooray!” and in a moment they were down in the road, stirring the fizzing water into the yellow dust with their canes, with all the glee of children at a new game.