“Dey are light, yet strong,” he said, his eyes roving from high-set withers to shapely hocks and clean-cut fetlocks. “Each could pull a ton on a bad road—yes?”
Martin laughed. He was blind to the cynical smile called forth by his amusement.
“A ton? Two tons. Why, one day last winter, when a pair of Belgians couldn’t move a loaded lorry in the deep snow, my father had the man take out both of ’em, and Prince walked away with the lot.”
“So?” cried the German admiringly.
“But you understand horses,” went on Martin. “Yet I’ve read that men who drive motors don’t care for anything else, as a rule.”
“Ah, dat reminds me,” said the other. “It is a fine day. Come wid me in de machine.”
“That’ll be grand,” said Martin elatedly. “Can you take it out?”
“Oh, yes. Any time I—dat is, I’ll ask Mrs. Saumarez, and she will permit—yes.”
Quarter of an hour later the chauffeur was explaining, in German, that he was going into the country for a long spin, and Mrs. Saumarez was listening, not consenting.
“Going alone?” she inquired languidly.