“Tunbridge to-night, London to-morrow.” He put his foot in the stirrup and climbed up heavily, grunting and swearing to ease his temper. “I wish you a clear road, sir,” he said, with sarcasm. “You would do well to lead a charge of horse.”
“I can only assure you of my regrets, my dear sir. We farmer gentry ride fast when there is a marriage to be arranged.”
Captain Grylls tilted his nose.
“Green youth, green youth!” he said, sententiously. “In ten years, my lad, you will break your neck riding to be rid of the sweet thing’s temper. Let the blood be hot for a month or two, till she begins to scold in bed instead of kissing.”
John Gore laughed.
“You are a man of experience, sir. Well, I must not waste your time—or my own.”
The man in the brown coat went away with a jeer.
“Spend your time on a wife, my lad, and you’ll waste it. Learn to spend it on other men’s wives—steal the kisses, and leave them the scratches.”
“Good-morning to you, sir; I wish I had some spare small-clothes to lend you.”
“They’ll dry in the saddle, Master Numskull, or I’ll sit with my back to the next fire I come across.” And he went off at a trot into the autumn woods.