Maisie turned around to see a middle-aged man in a black morning coat with a yellow waistcoat. His formal clothes clashed with his weatherbeaten face and uneducated speech, and she guessed he was a former stablehand who had started his own business and done well. She smiled and said: "He's doesn't mind me, do you, Redboy?"
"I don't suppose you could ride him, now, could you?"
"Ride him? Yes, I could ride him, without a saddle, and stand upright on his back, too. Is he yours?"
The man made a small bow and said: "George Sammles, at your service, ladies; proprietor, as it says there." He pointed to where his name was painted over the door.
Maisie said: "I shouldn't boast, Mr. Sammles, but I've spent the last four years in a circus, so I can probably ride anything you have in your stables."
"Is that a fact?" he said thoughtfully. "Well, well."
April put in: "What's on your mind, Mr. Sammles?"
He hesitated. "This may seem a mite sudden, but I was asking myself whether this lady might be interested in a business proposition."
Maisie wondered what was coming next. Until this moment she had thought the conversation was no more than idle banter. "Go on."
April said suggestively: "We're always interested in business propositions." But Maisie had a feeling Sammles was not after what April had in mind.
"You see, Redboy's for sale," the man began. "But you don't sell horses by keeping them indoors. Whereas, if you was to ride him around the park for an hour or so, a lady such as yourself, looking, if I may be so bold, as pretty as a pitcher, you'd attract a deal of attention, and chances are that sooner or later someone would ask you how much you wanted for the horse."
Was there money in this, Maisie wondered? Did it offer her a way of paying the rent without selling her body or her soul? But she did not ask the question that was on her mind. Instead she said: "And then I'd tell the person: 'Away and see Mr. Sammles in the Curzon Mews, for the nag's his.' Is that what you mean?"
"Exackly so, except that, rather than call Redboy a nag, you might term him 'this magnificent creature,' or 'this fine specimen of horseflesh,' or such."
"Maybe," said Maisie, thinking to herself that she would use her own words, not Sammles's. "Now then, to business." She could no longer pretend to be casual about the money. "How much would you pay?"
"What do you think it's worth?"
Maisie picked a ridiculous sum. "A pound a day."
"Too much," he said promptly. "I'll give you half that."
