By the time that the groom had recovered his equanimity the mare began to paw the stones, for she also had had enough of her present position.
‘Whoa, then!’ cried he sharply, raising his hand.
‘Gie her the wheep,’ suggested one of the boys.
Though there was an interested pause, the advice had no effect.
‘He’s feared,’ said a boy with an unnaturally deep voice. ‘He’s no muckle use. The laird doesna let him drive; ye’ll see when he comes oot o’ the close an’ wins into the machine, he’ll put the mannie up ahint him an’ just drive himsel’.’
‘Ay, will he.’
The man threw a vindictive glance into the group, and the mare, having resumed her stride, tossed her head up and down, sending a snow-shower of foam into the air. A spot lit upon his smart livery coat, and he pulled out his handkerchief to flick it off.
A baleful idea suggested itself to the crowd.
‘Eh, look—see!’ cried a tow-headed boy, ‘gie’s a handfu’ o’ yon black durt an’ we’ll put a piece on his breeks that’ll match the t’other ane!’
Two or three precipitated themselves upon the mud, and it is impossible to say what might have happened had not Gilbert, at this moment, come up the close.