Elkin waited impatiently till the journalist drew breath. Then he broke
in.
"Pedigree horses you mentioned, sir," he said, his rancor against Grant
being momentarily conquered by the pertinent allusion to his own
business. "What sort? Racing, coaching, roadsters, or hacks?"
"All sorts. The Argentine, where I have connections, offers an ever-open
door to good horseflesh."
"Are you having a look round?"
"Yes. There are several decent studs within driving distance of
Steynholme. Isn't that so, landlord?"
"Lots, sir," said Tomlin. "An' the very man you're talkin' to has some
stuff not to be sneezed at."
"Is that so?" Mr. Franklin gazed at Elkin in a very friendly manner. "May
I ask your name, sir?"
Elkin produced a card. Every hoof in his stables appreciated in
value forthwith, but he was far too knowing that he should appear to
rush matters.
"Call any day you like, sir," he said. "Glad to see you. But give me
notice. I generally have an appetizer here of a morning about eleven."
"An' you want it, too, Fred," said Hobbs. "Dash me, you're as thin as a
herrin'. Stop whiskey an' drink beer, like me."
"And you might also follow that gentleman's example," interposed Siddle
quietly, nodding towards Mr.
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