a niggerhead, its red legs flashing in the light.
“A new day is as solemn a thing to see as a new soul,” said Murray, then.
Randal laughed in one syllable.
“The solemn thing, as I take it, is a soul that will never be new any more. But you see them every day.”
“I don’t,” said Murray, taking his lungs full of scent-flooded air, as they rose the cutting beyond through gold and pearl of the flowering broom.
“You could if you looked,” said Randal, carelessly. “How does time go?”
“Just six. Feeling very fagged, eh?”
“No, I’m all right, thanks. Lick him up a bit along here, can’t you?”
“Don’t you fret. I’ll be up to time.”
But with the flat daylight on the familiar things again Murray’s torture woke and ran behind him, and neither man was speaking when the gig swung into the alleyway, and Conroy came out and asked questions.
Murray explained seven things in one sentence. Then Conroy said:
“You got ten minutes ter have a feed and a nip in, Randal; and then for Heaven’s sake, take ’em if you can. I haven’t got another man can handle that team wi’out makin’ a blamed mess o’ things.”
“Keep your hair on. I’m going to take
