"
"Yes," said the old man, with another contortion of his face, "they're
rested--leastways, one of 'em."
"Then what delays you--if not that British sluggishness which we in
public life find such a terrible handicap to our efforts in conducting
the war?"
"Ah!" said the old man. "But out of one you don't make two, guv'nor. Git
on the offside and you'll see it a bit steadier and a bit 'oler than you
'ave 'itherto."
Struck by his words, which were accompanied by a painful puckering of
the checks, Mr. Lavender moved round the van looking for some defect in
its machinery, and suddenly became aware that the off horse was lying on
the ground, with the traces cut. It lay on its side, and did not move.
"Oh!" cried Mr. Lavender; "oh!" And going up to the horse's head he
knelt down. The animal's eye was glazing.
"Oh!" he cried again, "poor horse! Don't die!" And tears dropped out of
his eyes on to the horse's cheek. The eye seemed to give him a look, and
became quite glazed.
"Dead!" said Mr Lavender in an awed whisper. "This is horrible! What
a thin horse--nothing but bones!" And his gaze haunted the ridge and
furrow of the horse's carcase, while the living horse looked round
and down at its dead fellow, from whose hollow face a ragged forelock
drooped in the dust.
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