The surgeon went up and helped him off with his coat. He twisted Edward’s arm. “Does that hurt?” “A bit.” “You’ve broken your collar-bone,” said the surgeon, after a moment’s examination. “I thought I’d smashed something. How long will it take to mend?” “Only three weeks. You needn’t be alarmed.” “I’m not alarmed, but I suppose I shall have to give up hunting for at least a month.” Edward was driven to Dr. Ramsay, who bandaged him and sent him back to Court Leys. Bertha was surprised to see him in a dogcart. Edward by now had recovered his good temper, and explained the occurrence, laughing. “It’s nothing to make a fuss about. Only I’m bandaged up so that I feel like a mummy, and I don’t know how I’m going to get a bath. That’s what worries me.” Next day Arthur Branderton came to see him. “You’ve found your match at last, Craddock.” “Me? Not much! I shall be all right in a month, and then out I go again.” “I wouldn’t ride him again, if I were you. It’s not worth it. With that trick of his of swinging his leg, you’ll break your neck.” “Bah,” said Edward, scornfully. “The horse hasn’t been built that I can’t ride.” “You’re a good weight now, and your bones aren’t as supple as when you were twenty. The next fall you have will be a bad one.” “Rot, man! One would think I was eighty; I’ve never funked a horse yet, and I’m not going to begin now.” Branderton shrugged his shoulders, and said nothing more at the time, but afterwards spoke to Bertha privately. “You know, I think, if I were you, I’d persuade Edward to get rid of that horse. I don’t think he ought to ride it again. It’s not safe. However well he rides, it won’t save him if the beast has got a bad trick.” Bertha had in this particular great faith in her husband’s skill. Whatever he could not do, he was certainly one of the finest riders in the county; but she spoke to him notwithstanding. “Pooh, that’s all rot!” he said. “I tell you what, on the 11th of next month we go over pretty well the same ground; and I’m going out, and I swear he’s going over that post and rail in Coulter’s field.” “You’re very incautious.” “No, I’m not. I know exactly what a horse can do. And I know that horse can jump if he wants to, and by George, I’ll make him. Why, if I funked it now I could never ride again. When a chap gets to be near forty and has a bad fall, the only thing is to go for it again at once, or he’ll lose his nerve and never get it back. I’ve seen that over and over again.” Miss Glover later on, when Edward’s bandages were removed and he was fairly well, begged Bertha to use her influence with him. “I’ve heard he’s a most dangerous horse, Bertha. I think it would be madness for Edward to ride him.” “I’ve begged him to sell it, but he merely laughs at me,” said Bertha. “He’s extremely obstinate and I have very little power over him.” “Aren’t you dreadfully frightened?”