"Well, I suppose we must go on as best we can with two horses now, for the first two are good for nothing." And in the spirit of a true driver he stuck his whip beneath him, as being a thing for which there was now no further use, and resumed his argument with the coachman about the inefficiency of smiths in general.
"As soon as we reach Oroshaza, we'll get two fresh horses; we ought to be getting there now."
Yet the steeple of Oroshaza was, as yet, scarcely visible and midday was already approaching. There was no intermediate station where they could change horses.
Half an hour later Mr. Gerzson dashed his clay pipe against the wheel of the coach and swore that he would be damned if ever such a silly-fool thing had ever befallen him before, for now the thill horse also began to limp.
Naturally, that also was found to have been pricked.
"May the devil take all those scamps of smiths who look after the poor beasts so badly! A pretty fix we are in now. We may thank our stars if we are able to crawl into Oroshaza before nightfall. A pretty amble we shall have now, I'll be bound."
And indeed ambling was about all they could do. As for the Oroshaza steeple, so far from drawing any nearer, it seemed to be travelling away from them, and with very much better horses than they had. It seemed to get further off every moment.
"Well, all we want now is for the saddle horse also to throw up the sponge and we shall be complete."
If that were Mr. Gerzson's one remaining wish, Fate very speedily granted it to him, for they had not gone another quarter of an hour when all four horses began to limp together, one with the right foot, another with the left, the third with the fore and the fourth with the hind leg, till it was positively frightful to look at them.
Mr. Gerzson leaped from the box, and in his rage and fury dashed his pipe-stem into a thousand pieces.