“What horse?”
“Why, as if you didn’t know! That there ’orse as was drivin’ you blokes a’ Monday night.”
“What, did you see us, then?” I asked.
“In corse I did. I seen you as I was a-comin’ back from the racket school. My eye, wasn’t you tidy and screwed though! You don’t ought to be trusted with ’orses, you don’t.”
“I wasn’t screwed, Billy,” said I, “and I wasn’t driving.”
“No, that you wasn’t driving. But I knows the bloke as was.”
“Do you know Mr Whipcord?”
“Yaas, I knows the animal,” he replied, with a grin. “He gave me a doin’ with his stick once, he did.”
“But did you see me pitched out?” I asked, not feeling particularly interested in the last reminiscence.
“In corse I did. I seen you. Thought you was dead, and I fetches the bloke to yer, and the bloke sends me for the doctor, and the doctor—”