ock," he said. "We jest 'ad a telephone
message that a van's stranded this side o' Merton, 'orses broken down,
an' you an' Tippitt 'ave got to take these 'ere and deliver the goods.
Then take the van where you're told, an' bring back them ruddy 'orses
'ere, an' don't you forget it."

Bindle scratched his head through the blue and white cricket cap he
habitually wore. Horses had suddenly assumed for him a new
significance. With elaborate intentness he examined the particular
animal that had been assigned to him.

"Wot part d'you sit on, ole son?" he enquired of Tippitt, a pale,
weedy youth, with a thin dark moustache that curled into the corners
of his mouth. Tippitt's main characteristic was that he always had a
cigarette either stuck to his lip or behind his ear. Sometimes both.

"On 'is tail," replied Tippitt laconically, his cigarette wagging up
and down as he spoke.

"Sit on 'is wot?" cried Bindle, walking round to the stern of his
animal and examining the tail with great attention. "Sit on 'is wot?"

"On 'is tail," repeated Tippitt without manifesting any interest in
the conversation. "Right back on 'is 'aunches," he added by way of
explanation; "more comfortable."

"Oh!" said Bindle, relieved, "I see. Pity you can't say wot you mean,
Tippy, ain't it? Personally, meself, I'd sooner sit well up, so as I
could put me arms round 'is neck. Hi! Spotty!" he called to an
unprepossessing stable-hand. "Bring a ladder."

"A wot?" enquired Spotty dully.

"A ladder," explained Bindle. "I got to mount this 'ere Derby winner."

Spotty strolled leisurely across the yard towards Bindle, and for a
moment stood regarding the horse in a detached sort of way.

"I'll give you a leg up, mate," he said accommodatingly.

Bindle looked at the horse suspiciously and, seeing there were no
indications of vice, at the same time realising that there was nothing
else to be done, he acquiesced.

"Steady on, ole sport," he counselled Spotty. "Don't you chuck me
clean over the other side."

With a dexterous heave, Spotty landed him well upon the animal's back.
Bindle calmly proceeded to throw one leg over, sitting astride.

"Not that way," said Tippitt, "both legs on the near side."

"You can ride your nag wot way you like, Tippy," said Bindle; "but as
for me, I likes to 'ave a leg each side. 'Ow the 'ell am I goin' to
'old on if I sit like a bloomin' lady. My Gawd!" he exclaimed, passing
his hand along the backbone of the animal,