“All serene then, come on. Mind you tell Tom, I say,” added he to the carter. “Good-bye, and thanks awfully.”
And they departed in doleful procession, Dick, with the whip in his hand, leading the mare by the mouth, and Heathcote and Coote following like chief mourners, just out of range of the animal’s heels.
“What shall we say to Ashford?” asked Heathcote, after a little.
“Say? What do you mean?” said Dick.
“He’s sure to ask us what has happened.”
“Well, we shall tell him, I suppose.”
“There’ll be an awful row.”
“Of course there will.”
“We shall get licked.”
“Of course we shall. What of it?”