he may irritate Edgar, he does not stay long, and
retires discreetly.
Having finished his review of the stables, the carriage-houses, and the harness-rooms, and having given his orders in a tone of military command, Edgar gets into his automobile again, and starts rapidly for the Champs-Elysees, where at first he makes a short stop in a little bar-room, among race-track people, skunk-faced tipsters, who drop mysterious words into his ears, and show him confidential dispatches. The rest of the morning is devoted to visits to sundry trades-people, to give them new orders and receive commissions, and to horse-dealers, with whom such conversations as the following take place:
"Well, Master Edgar?"
"Well, Master Poolny?"
"I have a buyer for the baron’s bays."
"They are not for sale."
"Fifty pounds for you."
"No."
"A hundred pounds, Master Edgar."
"We will see, Master Poolny."
"That is not all, Master Edgar."
"What else, Master Poolny?'
"I have two magnificent sorrels for the baron."
"We do not need them."
"Fifty pounds for you."
"No."
