“Am I to conclude, gentlemen,” said he, “that this exhibition was a trial of the comparative merits of your horses preparatory to the racing? Upon such an occasion as this I must say”——
“Just look at M’Whirter, captain,” said Pounset, “and then judge for yourself whether it was intentional. The fact is, my mare is as hot as ginger, and that black horse has no more mouth than a brickbat!”
“Well, after all, he does seem in a precious mess. I am sure it was a mere accident, but don’t let it happen again. Fall in, gentlemen.”
There was, however, as regarded myself, considerable opposition to this order.
“Why, M’Whirter, you’re not going to poison us to death, are you?” said Anthony Whaup. “Pray keep to the other side, like a good fellow—you’re not just altogether a bouquet.”
“Do they gut the herrings down yonder, M’Whirter?” asked Archy Chaffinch. “Excuse me for remarking that your flavour is rather full than fragrant.”
“I wish they had allowed smoking on parade!” said a third. “It would require a strong Havannah to temper the exhalations of our comrade.”
“Hadn’t you better go home at once?” suggested Randolph. “My horse is beginning to cough.”
“Yes—yes!” cried half-a-dozen. “Go home at once.”
“And if you are wise,” added Hargate, “take a dip in the sea—boots, helmet, pantaloons, and all.”