And in
this arrangement there was something harmonious and fitting, as though
Providence itself had guided them all and assigned to each its place.
And Providence had only made one error--that of placing Captain
Bellew's dogcart precisely opposite the booking-office, instead of Lord
Quarryman's wagonette, with Mr. Pendyce's brougham next.
Mr. Pendyce came out first; he stared angrily at the dogcart, and
moved to his own carriage. Lord Quarryman came out second. His massive
sun-burned head--the back of which, sparsely adorned by hairs, ran
perfectly straight into his neck--was crowned by a grey top-hat. The
skirts of his grey coat were square-shaped, and so were the toes of his
boots.
"Hallo, Pendyce!" he called out heartily; "didn't see you on the
platform. How's your wife?"
Mr. Pendyce, turning to answer, met the little burning eyes of Captain
Bellew, who came out third. They failed to salute each other, and
Bellow, springing into his cart, wrenched his mare round, circled the
farmers' gigs, and, sitting forward, drove off at a furious pace. His
groom, running at full speed, clung to the cart and leaped on to the
step behind. Lord Quarryman's wagonette backed itself into the place
left vacant. And the mistake of Providence was rectified.
"Cracked chap, that fellow Bellew.
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