“We can dispense with style,” said Julian, “if a kind, serviceable rig is to be bought cheap.”
So he kept a liveryman in town on the lookout for him, and one afternoon he received a message and went to drive home our bargain.
Lena followed me to the gate to see the flourish Julian described there before alighting.
“What made you get a cart?” I inquired.
“This,” said Julian, “is a sort of a dog-cart. The rage is all for dog-carts just now, and we couldn’t have a phaeton, you know.”
“But they aren’t painted red.”
“This one is,” said Julian.
“And there is no place behind for the dogs,” I further objected.
“Oh, well, T’férgore won’t want to carry a dog,” said Julian. “It’s a bargain on two wheels!”
Whatever is mine acquires peculiar merits in my eyes. A halo of possession arches it, making it a little better than the same thing owned by anybody else. I accepted the red cart and followed Julian into the stable-yard, where, after Fritz helped him unhitch, he showed me the points of the horse.