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Updated: May 7, 2025
Then he laughed again, and said that old Youghal was a fool. Strickland let go of the cob's head, and suggested that the General had better help them, if that was his opinion. Strickland knew Youghal's weakness for men with titles and letters after their names and high official position.
In the darkness and the heavy rain could dimly be seen the rounded form of the buggy; the cob's flanks shone in the glittering ray of the lamps; Carpenter was hidden under the hood; his mysterious hand raised the apron, and Twemlow stepped quickly in. 'Good-night, said Ethel. 'Good-night, Mr. Twemlow, said Milly. 'Be good.
"Oh come, I'm not going to stand that," cried Mark, dragging at the pony's head. "You're so full of oats now that you can hardly move, and he'll be looking back directly, and thinking I'm afraid to come on." The cob's head was up: so was its obstinate nature.
Finding at last that drumming the cob's sides was of no use, jerking the bit of not the slightest avail, and that whacks with the sheathed sword only produced whisks of the tail, Mark subsided into a sulky silence, and rode at a walk, watching the enemy's back as he trudged steadily on.
Then, laying his hand on the cob's shining flank, he deliberately addressed himself to Ann: "Is Dick Turpin still behaving himself properly?" She nodded. "He's a perfect cherub," she assured him warmly. "Any one could manage him even when he has an attack of high spirits. He's got a mouth like velvet."
All that had gone before was merged in "yesterday's seven thousand years." His cob's pace did not slacken until he drew rein at the giant doorway of a block of flats in the Rue Boissière. It was then about five o'clock, and he meant to appear at his mother's tea table. He was far from looking the "limp rag" of his phrase to Joan.
The pony had reckoned without its rider, for Bart was too old at such matters to leave his grasp of the rein, and the Indian cob's first knowledge of its mistake was given by a sharp check to its under jaw, round which the horse-hair rope was twitched, the next by finding its rider back in his old place where he had leaped as lightly as could be.
Robin threw her a brief glance, then, drawing his whip lightly across the cob's glossy flanks, he asked casually: "And how did you leave the Brabazons?" "They're both looking very fit after three months in Switzerland, of course, but I think Tony found it a bit boring compared with Monte Carlo. They came straight on to Montricheux from Mentone, you know."
"'Christian dost thou see them?" quoted Larry, kicking his heels into the bay cob's well-covered ribs without effect, "for I don't!" "They'll check at Carrigaholt," called back Bill Kirby; "that'll be our chance "
Just before him stood, by a high five-barred gate, a pensive gray cob attached to a neat-looking gig. The bridle was loose on the cob's neck. The animal was evidently accustomed to stand quietly when ordered to do so, and glad of the opportunity. The cries, "Help, help!" were renewed, mingled with louder tones in a rougher voice, tones of wrath and menace.
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