A great hay waggon came lumbering down the road and pulled up, there being no room for it to pass.

This put an end to social amenities.

Brown mounted his detested charger and trotted off.
Marigold transferred me to Boyce's car.

Several pairs of brawny arms righted the two-seater and Boyce and I drove off, leaving Marigold waiting with his usual stony patience for the promised tow.

On the way Boyce talked gaily of Marigold's gallantry, of the boy's spirit, of the idiotic way in which impossible horses were being foisted on newly formed cavalry units.