addition to these considerations he wanted no more brothers quartered at Trevellin. When Penhallow added to these unwelcome tidings an announcement that he thought it nigh time young Aubrey stopped messing about in town, and came home, he shut his lips tightly, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room.
When he reached the hunting-stables, his face still wore so forbidding an expression that a stable-boy, carrying a couple of buckets across the yard, made all haste to remove himself from his sight; and a groom, who was engaged in strapping a flea-bitten grey, exchanged a significant glance with one of his mates.
Raymond paused for a moment, silently watching the busy groom. Apparently he had no fault to find, for, to the man’s relief, he passed on. The upper halves of the loose-box doors stood open, and a row of beautiful heads looked out. Raymond stopped to caress one of his own hunters; parted the hair on the neck of a bay mare with his fingers; inspected the ears of a neat-headed Irish hunter; entered one of the boxes to examine the hooves of a nervous chestnut under treatment for thrush; and was joined presently by his head-groom, with whom he held a brief discussion of a highly technical nature. He still looked rather forbidding, but his scowl had lightened as it always did when he came amongst his horses. He glanced round the quadrangle, thinking how good were these stables of his own designing, thinking that the new groom he had engaged shaped well, thinking that he would advise Bart to have his grey’s shoes removed, thinking that when Penhallow died — But at this point his thoughts stopped abruptly, and he swung round to visit the harness-room. One of the hands was washing some dirty harness there, which hung on a double-hook suspended from the ceiling; Bart and Conrad, as well as himself, had been exercising horses earlier in the morning, and the three saddles were spread over the long iron saddle-horse. Glass-fronted cupboards running round the walls contained well-polished saddles on their brackets, gleaming bits attached to neatly hung bridles, all in demonstrably good order. A quick look over some horse-clothing, spread out for his inspection, a glance along the shelf stacked with bandages, a nod in answer to a request for more neat’s foot oil and some new leathers, and he passed on to the hay-chamber, and to the granary, with its corn-bruiser, its chaff cutter, and its many bins.
When he left the stables, he strode off to the ramshackle building which housed his runabout, and backed this battered and aged vehicle out into the yard. He decided that he had just time to pay a visit to his studfarm before motoring into Bodmin, and drove off noisily up the rough lane which led to it.
He found Ingram there, talking to Mawgan, the studgroom. The brothers exchanged a curt greeting. Ingram, who was sitting on his shooting-stick, said: ‘I’ve been saying to Mawgan that we’d do well to get rid of the Flyaway mare.’
Raymond grunted.
‘Guv’nor all right?’ Ingram asked casually.
‘Much as usual.’
‘Going to take a look at the Demon colt? I’m on my way to the Upper Paddock myself.’
Raymond had meant to take a look at the colt on which his present ambitions were centred, but he had no wish to do so in Ingram’s presence. He replied: ‘No, I haven’t time. I’ve got to get to Bodmin.’
‘Oh! Did Weens show you that quarter-piece?’
‘Yes.’
‘Dam’ bad,’ remarked Ingram, easing his game leg a little. ‘If you’re going into Bodmin, you might tell Gwithian’s to send me up another dozen of lager. Save me a journey.’
‘All right,’ Raymond said. ‘Nothing wanted here?’
‘Not that I know of:’ Ingram eyed him shrewdly. ‘Bank again?’ he inquired laconically.
Raymond nodded, scowling. ‘Going the pace a bit, isn’t he?’
‘If you think you can clap a curb on him, try!’ recommended Raymond savagely. ‘I’m fed up with it!’
Ingram laughed. ‘No
When he reached the hunting-stables, his face still wore so forbidding an expression that a stable-boy, carrying a couple of buckets across the yard, made all haste to remove himself from his sight; and a groom, who was engaged in strapping a flea-bitten grey, exchanged a significant glance with one of his mates.
Raymond paused for a moment, silently watching the busy groom. Apparently he had no fault to find, for, to the man’s relief, he passed on. The upper halves of the loose-box doors stood open, and a row of beautiful heads looked out. Raymond stopped to caress one of his own hunters; parted the hair on the neck of a bay mare with his fingers; inspected the ears of a neat-headed Irish hunter; entered one of the boxes to examine the hooves of a nervous chestnut under treatment for thrush; and was joined presently by his head-groom, with whom he held a brief discussion of a highly technical nature. He still looked rather forbidding, but his scowl had lightened as it always did when he came amongst his horses. He glanced round the quadrangle, thinking how good were these stables of his own designing, thinking that the new groom he had engaged shaped well, thinking that he would advise Bart to have his grey’s shoes removed, thinking that when Penhallow died — But at this point his thoughts stopped abruptly, and he swung round to visit the harness-room. One of the hands was washing some dirty harness there, which hung on a double-hook suspended from the ceiling; Bart and Conrad, as well as himself, had been exercising horses earlier in the morning, and the three saddles were spread over the long iron saddle-horse. Glass-fronted cupboards running round the walls contained well-polished saddles on their brackets, gleaming bits attached to neatly hung bridles, all in demonstrably good order. A quick look over some horse-clothing, spread out for his inspection, a glance along the shelf stacked with bandages, a nod in answer to a request for more neat’s foot oil and some new leathers, and he passed on to the hay-chamber, and to the granary, with its corn-bruiser, its chaff cutter, and its many bins.
When he left the stables, he strode off to the ramshackle building which housed his runabout, and backed this battered and aged vehicle out into the yard. He decided that he had just time to pay a visit to his studfarm before motoring into Bodmin, and drove off noisily up the rough lane which led to it.
He found Ingram there, talking to Mawgan, the studgroom. The brothers exchanged a curt greeting. Ingram, who was sitting on his shooting-stick, said: ‘I’ve been saying to Mawgan that we’d do well to get rid of the Flyaway mare.’
Raymond grunted.
‘Guv’nor all right?’ Ingram asked casually.
‘Much as usual.’
‘Going to take a look at the Demon colt? I’m on my way to the Upper Paddock myself.’
Raymond had meant to take a look at the colt on which his present ambitions were centred, but he had no wish to do so in Ingram’s presence. He replied: ‘No, I haven’t time. I’ve got to get to Bodmin.’
‘Oh! Did Weens show you that quarter-piece?’
‘Yes.’
‘Dam’ bad,’ remarked Ingram, easing his game leg a little. ‘If you’re going into Bodmin, you might tell Gwithian’s to send me up another dozen of lager. Save me a journey.’
‘All right,’ Raymond said. ‘Nothing wanted here?’
‘Not that I know of:’ Ingram eyed him shrewdly. ‘Bank again?’ he inquired laconically.
Raymond nodded, scowling. ‘Going the pace a bit, isn’t he?’
‘If you think you can clap a curb on him, try!’ recommended Raymond savagely. ‘I’m fed up with it!’
Ingram laughed. ‘No
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