supposed.

They went along Crosshampton Lane, that high-walled gulley, with
dignity, with only a slight suggestion of the inaccuracy that was
presently to become apparent, until they met a little old bearded
don on a bicycle. Then some misunderstanding arose between Benham
and the horse, and the little bearded don was driven into the narrow
pavement and had to get off hastily. He made no comment, but his
face became like a gargoyle. "Sorry," said Benham, and gave his
mind to the corner. There was some difficulty about whether they
were to turn to the right or the left, but at last Benham, it
seemed, carried his point, and they went along the narrow street,
past the grey splendours of King's, and rather in the middle of the
way.

Prothero considered the beast in front of him, and how proud and
disrespectful a horse in a dogcart can seem to those behind it!
Moreover, unaccustomed as he was to horses, he was struck by the
strong resemblance a bird's-eye view of a horse bears to a fiddle, a
fiddle with devil's ears.

"Of course," said Prothero, "this isn't a trotter."

"I couldn't get a trotter," said Benham.

"I thought I would try this sort of thing before I tried a trotter,"
he added.

And then suddenly came disaster.