Mrs. Milton, following
in alarm, just saw it. From Widgery it was hidden. Botley station
lies in a cutting, overhead was the roadway, and across the lemon
yellows and flushed pinks of the sunset, there whirled a great
black mass, a horse like a long-nosed chess knight, the upper
works of a gig, and Dangle in transit from front to back. A
monstrous shadow aped him across the cutting. It was the event of
a second. Dangle seemed to jump, hang in the air momentarily, and
vanish, and after a moment's pause came a heart-rending smash.
Then two black heads running swiftly.
"Better get out," said Phipps to Mrs. Milton, who stood
fascinated in the doorway.
In another moment all three were hurrying up the steps. They
found Dangle, hatless, standing up with cut hands extended,
having his hands brushed by an officious small boy. A broad, ugly
road ran downhill in a long vista, and in the distance was a
little group of Botley inhabitants holding the big, black horse.
Even at that distance they could see the expression of conscious
pride on the monster's visage. It was as wooden-faced a horse as
you can imagine. The beasts in the Tower of London, on which the
men in armour are perched, are the only horses I have ever seen
at all like it. However, we are not concerned now with the horse,
but with Dangle. " Hurt?" asked Phipps, eagerly, leading.
"Mr. Dangle!" cried Mrs. Milton, clasping her hands.
"Hullo!" said Dangle, not surprised in the slightest. "Glad
you've come.
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