"if I don't 'ave a cushion
I shall wear through in two ticks. 'Ere, Spotty, give us a cloth o'
some sort, then you can back me as a two-to-one chance."

Tippitt, more accustomed than Bindle to such adventures, vaulted
lightly upon his animal, and led the way out of the yard. For some
distance they proceeded at an ambling walk, which Bindle found in no
way inconvenient. Just as they had entered the Fulham Road, where it
branches off from the Brompton Road, an urchin gave Bindle's horse a
flick on the flank with a stick, sending it into a ponderous trot,
amidst the jangle and clatter of harness. Bindle clutched wildly at
the collar.

"'Ere, stop 'im, somebody! 'Old 'im!" he yelled. "I touched the wrong
button. Whoa, steady, whoa, ole iron!" he shouted. Then turning his
head to one side he called out: "Tippy, Tippy, where the 'ell is the
brake? For Gawd's sake stop 'im before 'e shakes me into a jelly!"

Tippitt's animal jangled up beside that on which Bindle was mounted,
and both once more fell back into the ponderous lope at which they had
started. With great caution Bindle raised himself into an upright
position.

"I wonder wot made 'im do a thing like that," he said reproachfully.
"Bruised me all over 'e 'as. I shan't be able to sit down for a month.
'Ere, stop 'im, Tippy. I'm gettin' orf."

Tippitt stretched out his hand and brought both horses to a
standstill. Bindle slipped ungracefully over his animal's tail.

"You can 'ave 'im, Tippy, ole sport, I'm goin' to walk," he announced.
"When I get tired o' walking, I'll get on a bus. I'll meet you at
Wimbledon Common;" and Tippitt, his cigarette hanging loosely from a
still looser lower lip, reached over, caught the animal's bridle and,
without comment, continued on his way westward.

"Well, live 'an learn," mumbled Bindle to himself. "I don't care wot a
jockey gets; but 'e earns it, every penny. Fancy an 'orse bein' as
'ard as that. Catch you up presently, Tippy," he cried. "Mind you
don't fall orf," and Bindle turned into The Drag and Hounds "for
somethink to take the bruises out," as he expressed it to himself.

"Catch me a-ridin' of an 'orse again without an air-cushion," he
muttered as he came out of the public-bar wiping his mouth. He hailed
a west-bound bus, and, climbing on the top and lighting his pipe,
proceeded to enjoy the morning sunshine.

When Tippitt reached the extreme end of Wimbledon Common, Bindle rose
from the grass by the roadside, where