Part 14 (2/2)

BAYARD (_talking to himself, as is the habit of some horses when alone_). I can't make it out. She's here. All the family came down yesterday--I heard the omnibus start for the station to meet them. And yet she hasn't sent for me; hasn't even been near me! She always used to rush in here and kiss me on the nose the very first--She's ill--that's it of course--sprained her fetlock or something. If she was well, she'd have had me saddled as soon as she'd had her morning feed, and we'd have gone for a canter together somewhere.... I hope she'll get well soon.

I'm sick of being taken out by the stable-man; he's so dull--no notion of conversation beyond whistling! Now, Miss Diana would talk to me the whole way.... Perhaps her hands and seat might have been----But what did _that_ matter? I liked to feel she was on my back, I liked the sound of her pretty voice, and the touch of her hand when she patted me after her ride.... (_He p.r.i.c.ks his ears._) Why, that's her voice outside now!

She's all right, after all. She's coming in to see me!... I _knew_ she couldn't have forgotten!

MISS DIANA'S VOICE (_outside_). Yes, you might put it in here for the present, Stubbs. I suppose it will be quite safe?

STUBBS' VOICE. Safe enough, Miss, there's plenty o' empty stalls this side. Nothing _in_ 'ere just now, except----

MISS D.'S VOICE. Very well, then. Just wipe some of the dust off the mud-guards, because I shall want it again after lunch. And mind you don't scratch the enamel taking it in.

STUBBS. Very good, Miss. I'll be keerful.

[_MISS DIANA'S steps die away upon the cobbles._

BAYARD (_to himself_). She's gone--without even asking after me! What has she been out in--a bath chair? I'm sure she _must_ be ill.

STUBBS (_to the Bicycle, as he wheels it in_). 'Ere, steady now, 'old up, can't ye? And keep that blarsted near pedal o' yourn off o' _my_ enamel. Blest if I wouldn't rather rub down arf a dozen 'unters nor one o' them yere bloomin' bi-cycles. I know where I _am_ with a 'orse; but these 'ere little, twisty, spidery wheels----Come _over_, will ye. I'll lean ye up agen 'ere till I've 'ad my dinner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”It must be a sort of animal, I suppose.”]

[_He places the machine against a part.i.tion next to BAYARD'S stall, and goes out._

BAYARD (_to himself, as he inspects his neighbour with the corner of his eye_). It's _not_ a bath-chair; it's one of these bicycles. It must be a sort of animal, I suppose, or Stubbs wouldn't have spoken to it. I should like to ask it one or two questions. (_He gets his neck over the part.i.tion, and breathes gently through his nostrils upon the handle-bars._) Excuse me, but do you understand horse-language at all?

The BICYCLE (_answering by a succession of saddle-creaks_). Perfectly.

I'm a kind of horse myself, I believe, only greatly _improved_, of course. _Would_ you mind not breathing on my handle-bars like that? It tarnishes the plating so. The saddle is the seat of _my_ intelligence, if you will kindly address your remarks here.

BAYARD. I beg your pardon. I will in future. I don't creak myself, but I've been closely connected with saddles ever since I was a two-year-old, so I can follow you fairly well. Didn't I hear my mistress's voice outside just now?

The BICYCLE. No; _my_ mistress's, Miss Diana's. I'd just taken her out for a short spin--not far, only fifteen miles or so.

BAYARD. Then, she--she's quite well?

The BICYCLE. Thanks, she's pedalling pretty strong just now. I'm going out with her again this afternoon.

BAYARD. Again! You will have had a hard day of it altogether, then. But I suppose you'll get a day or two's rest afterwards? I know _I_ should want it.

The BICYCLE. Bless you, _I_ never want rest. Why, I've been forty miles with her, and come home without clanking a link! _She_ was knocked up, if you like--couldn't go out for days!

BAYARD. Ah, she was never knocked up after riding _me_!

The BICYCLE. Because--it's no fault of yours, of course, but the way you've been constructed--you couldn't go far enough to knock _anybody_ up. And she doesn't get tired now, either. I'm not the kind of bicycle to boast; but I've often heard her say that she much prefers her ”bike”

(she always calls me her ”bike”--very nice and friendly of her, isn't it?) to any mere _horse_.

BAYARD. To any mere horse! And does she--give any reasons?

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