“Twelve thirty-two,” I repeated. It was the first time in my life that I felt I had a number.
“At noon you have to feed him the first time,” Gustav informed me.
“Feed whom?” I asked involuntarily; my thoughts were occupied with the hat, and I thought that was what he was referring to.
Gustav seemed to consider it beneath him to answer my insipid question.
“Between four and five,” he continued, “he gets his fodder again; do you know how to go to work to feed a horse?”
He held the nose-bag in his hands and looked at me as if he had strong doubts as to my efficiency.
“I have sometimes seen it done at the stopping-places,” I replied dejectedly, “but we might as well make a trial.”
“Well, then, go ahead,” he said, handing the receptacle to me.
It was with some difficulty that I got the strap which held the bag adjusted around the horse’s neck; Gustav stood behind me with a critical air.
“That ain’t right,” he said; “take the bit out first.”