“I expect I had better walk on now,” I remarked.
“Walk, be grannied! With two fat lazy horses to draw you?” returned Mr Beecham.
Men are clumsy, stupid creatures regarding little things, but in their right place they are wonderful animals. If a buggy was smashed to smithereens, from one of their many mysterious pockets they would produce a knife and some string, and put the wreck into working order in no time.
Harold was as clever in this way as any other man with as much bushman ability as he had, so it was not long ere we were bowling along as merrily as ever.
Just before we came in sight of Caddagat he came to a standstill, jumped to the ground, untied Warrigal, and put the reins in my hand, saying:
“I think you can get home safely from here. Don’t be in such a huff—I was afraid something might happen you if alone. You needn’t mention that I came with you unless you like. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr Beecham. Thank you for being so officious,” I said by way of a parting shot.
“Old Nick will run away with you for being so ungrateful,” he returned.
“Old Nick will have me anyhow,” I thought to myself as I drove home amid the shadows. The hum of the cicadas was still, and dozens of rabbits, tempted out by the cool of the twilight, scuttled across my path and hid in the ferns.
I wished the harness had not broken, as I feared it would put a clincher on my being allowed out driving alone in future.