"As for riding, it means no more than the elaborate study and
cultivation of your horse. You have to know him. All horses are
individuals. A made horse perhaps goes its round like an omnibus,
but for the rest. . . ."

Prothero made a noise of sympathetic assent.

"In a country where equestrianism is assertion I suppose one must be
equestrian. . . ."

That night some malignant spirit kept Benham awake, and great
American trotters with vast wide-striding feet and long yellow
teeth, uncontrollable, hard-mouthed American trotters, pounded over
his angry soul.

"Prothero," he said in hall next day, "we are going to drive to-
morrow."

Next day, so soon as they had lunched, he led the way towards
Maltby's, in Crosshampton Lane. Something in his bearing put a
question into Prothero's mind. "Benham," he asked, "have you ever
driven before?"

"NEVER," said Benham.

"Well?"

"I'm going to now."

Something between pleasure and alarm came into Prothero's eyes. He