“She’s a cad,” said Dick, “and I shouldn’t have been sorry if she’d broken her neck. Look at the smash she’s made.”
The trap was indeed far worse damaged than they supposed as first. Not only was a shaft broken, but a wheel was off, and the rail all along one side was torn away. It was clear there was no more driving to be got out of it that afternoon, and the boys gave up the attempt to raise it in disgust.
“Do you know Tom, our man—Ashford’s man?” said Dick.
“Who? Tom Tranter? Yes, I knows him.”
“Well, you’ll meet him on the road between here and Markridge, walking, or perhaps running. Tell him we’ve had a spill and he’d better see after the trap, will you? We’ll go on.”
“What about the horse, though?” said Heathcote.
“I suppose we shall have to take the beast along with us. We can’t leave her here.”
“I think we’d better stop till Tom comes, and all go on together,” suggested Heathcote.
“I suppose you funk it with Ashford,” said Dick whose temper was somewhat ruffled by misfortune. “I don’t. If you two like to stop you can. I’ll go on with the mare.”
“Oh, no, we’ll all come,” said Heathcote. “I’m not afraid, no more is Coote.”