Will got angry. “If I do get out, it _will_ be a hundred years before I come back. However,” he said, forcing a smile, “let’s put it another way. Jinny shall come and help _my_ business.” “Jinny’ll never give up Methusalem.” “Well, Methusalem’ll give up Jinny before very long—he can’t last for ever. And she can keep him for Sundays—yes, that’ll be a good idea. She can drive to chapel with him, not being a business animal.” “And then she’d be clear of successors to Farmer Gale,” a side-thought added. “But Oi thought ’twas me you had a proposition for,” said the Gaffer testily. Will hastily readjusted his tactics. “Of course, of course. It’s really lumping our businesses, instead of competing, don’t you see?” “Well, dedn’t Oi say ’twas a pardnership you was arter?” “Quite right. Only we’ll give poor old Methusalem a retiring pension.” “He, he!” croaked the Gaffer. He added honestly, “But Oi don’t droive much meself nowadays. ’Tis onny the connexion ye’d be getting and the adwice and counsel.” “Just what I want,” said Will enthusiastically. “And I’m willing to share and share alike.” “Snacks?” “Snacks!” “It’s not a bad notion,” admitted the ancient. “It’s a ripping notion.” “Arter all, as you say, there’s no reason we should come into colloosion.” He dropped the knife back on the table, and looked out of the still open window. “Ay, it’s a grand coach!” he gurgled. “The talk of the countryside—only needs a turnpike road to beat the train!” said Will, expanding afresh. “Snowdrop and Cherry-blossom I call these horses for fun—because they’re so black, you see.” “Ay, black as the devil! And hark at ’em pawin’—there’s fire and sperrit for you. That’s as foine a coach as ever Oi took up from. It’ll not look amiss with Quarles painted ’stead o’ Flynt.” “I beg your pardon,” said Will quickly. “Flynt must remain. The Flynt Flyer—you can’t alter that.” “Why can’t you?” “You can’t say the Quarles Flyer—the Quarles Creeper runs better off the tongue. The Flynt Flyer—that goes together.” “But it’s you and me’s got to goo together,” retorted the obstinate old man. “Anyways it must be the Quarles and Flynt Flyer.” “That’s too long. Besides the Flynt Flyer’s become a trade-mark—known everywhere.” “And what about Daniel Quarles, Carrier? That’s a better known trade-mark. We’ll paint that.” Will shook his head. “I can’t do that, but I’ll paint Flynt and Quarles, Carriers, underneath the name of the coach. And that’s the limit.” “Daniel Quarles was always a peaceable man. . . . Quarles and Flynt!” breathed the Gaffer beatifically. “No, Flynt and Quarles,” Will corrected. “Flynt must go first.” “Why must?” “Don’t F come before Q? Folks would think we didn’t know our A B C.” “It _would_ be more scholardy,” Daniel admitted. Will proffered a conclusive hand. “Then it’s a bargain!” But Daniel let the hand hover. “Oi don’t droive much meself nowadays,” he repeated with anxious honesty.