"I must have knocked my elbow against the barrow," he muttered. His face
was pale.
"Give me the reins," said the Countess.
"I think I can turn the brute up here," he said.
And he did in fact neatly divert the mule up Birches Street, which is
steeper even than Longshaw Road. The mule for a few instants pretended
that all gradients, up or down, were equal before its angry might. But
Birches Street has the slope of a house-roof. Presently the mule walked,
and then it stood still. And half Birches Street emerged to gaze, for
the Countess's attire was really very splendid.
"I'll leave this here, and we'll walk back," said Denry. "You won't be
late--that is, nothing to speak of. The Institute is just round the top
here."
"You don't mean to say you're going to let that mule beat you?"
exclaimed the Countess.
"I was only thinking of your being late."
"Oh, bother!" said she. "Your mule may be ruined." The horse-trainer in
her was aroused.
"And then my arm?" said Denry.
"Shall I drive back?" the Countess suggested.
"Oh, do," said Denry. "Keep on up the street, and then to the left."
They changed places, and two minutes later she brought the mule to an
obedient rest in front of the Police Institute, which was all newly red
with terra-cotta.
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