"You just make un go doan, lovey," he said. "More eaten, more stomick next time. Eat slow and steady, says Dr. Pape."
Back in the bar, he buried his nose in his tankard.
For the tenth time Plum-face summed up his woes.
"Boy and man, nineteen year Ah've tooled St. Asaph's Eleven to Ecclesthorpe June Fixture. Four-in-'and's historical, like goose to Michaelmas. But to-day, Old Grudgers—ye know Grudger's Bait, far end o' Mill Street? To-day, old Grudge, 'e says, 'You hitch Fancy Blood near-lead,' and I says 'im back, 'If 'ee puts 'er 'long o' Tod Sloan, Fancy'll go dead lame afore "T'Goat in Boots."' And dead lame she stands in staable here, first time six month. Not offerin' lame, mind you, with a peck an' a limp when she keeps 'er mind on 'er wicked meanin', but sore up to the off fore pastern, and the hoof that hot it'd light a lucifer. Fancy's a female, she is, same as your wife or mine; and Tod, 'e just sours 'er blood, and there ye are. Ah tell 'ee, boys, Ned Blossom's shamed, 'e is, if he comes slatherin' into Ecclesthorpe-on-the-Moor wi' two sweatin' wheelers in twentieth year o' the match."
By this time Dick had received from the tapster his second order, a tankard of old ale, laced with a surreptitious noggin of unsweetened gin.
"And what-like nature o' a nag may this Tod be?" he asked, speaking with so easy a familiarity, and holding the pewter so invitingly that Ned Blossom responded as to an old friend.
"Gradely bit o' stuff sure-ly," he replied. "And do love to fill his collar; but sulky-like he's been on t' road this day, wi' Fancy doin' nowt to share."
"Then leave Fancy in staable," said Dick, "and drive owd Tod unicorn into Ecclesthorpe wi' style."
Ned Blossom chuckled foolishly, and took the tankard Dick was offering, handle free, to his fingers.
"Like t' owd flea-bitten mare used to stand bottom o' Church Hill out o' Water Street, waitin' for t' bus comin'. They'd take the bar offen 'er back, hitch it to pole, an' away she'd go, scratchin' and scramblin' up to moor, like cat on roof-tiles. Ha! ha!" laughed Ned, and took a pull from the pewter. "But, say, who be you, standin' drinks like an owd friend?"