The road was full
of ruts, and I was bumped up and down very badly. My hat went away,
but, for the present, my head kept its place. I managed to steer
safely as far as the bridge across the Tarra but, in going over it,
the horse's hoofs and whirling wheels sounded like thunder, and
brought out the whole population of Tarraville to look at me. It was
on a Sunday afternoon; some good people were singing hymns in the
local chapel, and as I passed the turn of the road, they left the
anxious benches, came outside in a body, and gazed at me, a
bare-headed and miserable Sabbath-breaker going swiftly to perdition.
I also was on a very anxious bench. But now there was a long stretch
of good road before me, and I made good use of it. Instead of
pulling the horse in, I let him go, and encouraged him with the whip
to go faster, being determined to let him gallop until either he or
the sun went down. Then the despicable wretch slackened his pace,
and wanted to come to terms. So I wheeled him round and whipped him
without mercy, making him gallop all the way home again. I did not
buy him.
But the next horse I tried was comparatively blameless, so I bought
him, and at the end of the first month sent in a claim to the Law
Department for the usual allowance. I was curtly informed that the
amount had been reduced from fifty pounds to ten pounds for my horse,
although sixty pounds was still allowed to the other horse for
travelling the same distance, the calculation evidently being based
on the supposition that the police magistrate's horse would eat six
times as much as mine.
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