“Really, Mr Beecham, Mr Archer and I have been so interested in ourselves that we quite forgot there was such a thing as a race at all,” I returned.
“You’d better see where old Boxer is. He might kick some of the other horses if you don’t keep a sharp look-out,” he said, turning to his jackeroo.
“Ladies before gentlemen,” I interposed. “I want Mr Archer to take me to grannie, then he can go and look after old Boxer.”
“I’ll escort you,” said Beecham.
“Thank you, but I have requested Mr Archer to do so.”
“In that case, I beg your pardon, and will attend to Boxer while Joe does as you request.”
Raising his hat he walked swiftly away with a curious expression on his usually pleasant face.
“By Jove, I’m in for it!” ejaculated my escort. “The boss doesn’t get that expression on his face for nothing. You take my tip for it, he felt inclined to seize me by the scruff of the neck and kick me from here to Yabtree.”
“Go on!”
“It’s a fact. He did not believe in me not going to do his bidding immediately. He has a roaring derry on disobedience. Everyone has to obey him like winkie or they can take their beds up and trot off quick and lively.”