She had only two speeds in her repertoire, a walk which
slung you up and down her back from her ears to her croup, and a trot
which jarred your teeth loose and rattled the buttons off your tunic.
However, she went to the railhead and Albert Edward mounted her, threw
the clutch into the first speed and hammered out the ten miles to our
camp, arriving smothered in snow and so stiff we had to lift him down,
so raw it was a mockery to offer him a chair, and therefore he had to
take his tea off the mantelpiece.
We advised a visit to Sandy. Sandy was the hot bath merchant. He
lurked in a dark barn at the end of the village, and could be found
there at anytime of any day, brooding over the black cauldrons in
which the baths were brewed, his Tam-o'-shanter drooped over one eye,
steam condensing on his blue nose. Theoretically the hot baths were
free, but in practice a franc pressed into Sandy's forepaw was found
to have a strong calorific effect on the water.
So down the village on all fours, groaning like a Dutch brig in a
cross-sea, went our Albert Edward.
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