“Looks to me as if the horse wasn’t quite sober,” suggested Coote.
“Perhaps, if you pulled both reins at the same time, instead of one at a time,” put in Heathcote, “she wouldn’t wobble so much.”
“You duffer; she’d stop dead, if I did that.”
“Suppose you don’t pull either,” said Heathcote.
Richardson pooh-poohed the notion, but acted on it all the same, with highly satisfactorily results. The trap glided along smoothly, and all anxiety as to the management of the mare appeared to be at an end.
“I left word for Tom,” said Richardson, “if he stepped out, he’d catch us up. Ha, ha! Won’t he be wild?”
“Wonder if he’ll get us in a row with Ashford?” said Heathcote.
“Not he. What’s the harm? Just a little horse-play, that’s all.”
Heathcote and Coote became grave.
“Look here,” said the former, “we let you off last time, but you’ll catch it now. Collar him that side, Coote, and have him over.”