"Mile and a half or two miles. I was determined to find them, you know. I say though—Look at my hands! But I beg your pardon, Mrs. Milton." He turned to Phipps. "Phipps, I say, where shall I wash the gravel out? And have a look at my knee?"
"There's the station," said Phipps, becoming helpful. Dangle made a step, and a damaged knee became evident. "Take my arm," said Phipps.
"Where can we get a conveyance?" asked Widgery of two small boys.
The two small boys failed to understand. They looked at one another.
"There's not a cab, not a go-cart, in sight," said Widgery. "It's a case of a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse."
"There's a harse all right," said one of the small boys with a movement of the head.
"Don't you know where we can hire traps?" asked Widgery.
"Or a cart or—anything?" asked Mrs. Milton.
"John Ooker's gart a cart, but no one can't 'ire'n," said the larger of the small boys, partially averting his face and staring down the road and making a song of it. "And so's my feyther, for's leg us broke."
"Not a cart even! Evidently. What shall we do?"
