“Get on my back,” said Jack, turning round. She protested. “Why not? Course you con.” He bent forward and, because she wanted badly to see, she put her hands on his shoulders and vaulted up. He clasped his hands so that she sat on his upturned palms and felt safe, though foolish. Her thighs were splayed on his hips. She felt him small, yet firm, beneath her. The tall man grinned on a level with her. Hastily she looked away, forward over hats and heads, and saw just moving on to the straight at the opposite side the master and huntsman with twenty-three hounds round or behind their black horses, and finally the whipper-in, also on a black horse. Unexpectedly, for the first time, the sun came out almost as if from a touch on an electric switch and everything shone with new brightness: the pink coats, the white breeches, the black boots, and the sleek horses; and the pack became a gay stream of liver, white and black, legs twinkling, tails waving, so unusual and funny to Flo that she tightened her knees and hands and laughed, completely forgetful.
Now the master lifted his horn and blew an unmusical note which nevertheless excited everybody. The horses cantered, the pack stretched out, loping easily. Down the straight on the near side again the canter became a gallop, and Flo seemed actually to feel the heavy thuds of the hooves. But the quicker speed made little difference to the hounds; they kept up with the same beautiful ease. Everybody shouted and waved and laughed, and the whipper-in snapped his long lash after two stragglers who looked bored, apparently having gone through the performance too often before. Eventually one of these slipped across the centre and sat and waited for the rest coming round and the applause he got was loudest of all.
“Oh, you should see!” exclaimed Flo, all at once remembering. “It’s not fair . . .”
“I’ve seen it before,” Jack answered in a low satisfied tone, intimately increasing the pressure of his arms against her. At once the hunt lost all attraction. She looked down on his straight upright hair and was suddenly tempted to feel it. Under her hand the bristleness disappeared; the hair was soft and unexpectedly warm, almost aglow, and her hand was arrested and stayed there momentarily as if from surprise.
“Eh, what you doin’ . . . spoilin’ my partin’?” Jack demanded, tossing his head, as if in anger, but laughing.
“Let me down, let me down,” exclaimed Flo urgently, and at the same moment felt a sharp poke in the back. As she dropped a harsh voice exclaimed: “Na then, what the heckment . . .! You’ll non cop train playin’ pick-a-back.”
Flo turned in a fluster. Mrs. Nadin’s little eyes sparkled. Behind her Mr. Nadin stood straight and meek, but with a touch of pink on each cheek which seemed like proof that he had enjoyed himself despite his wife’s arrival.
“Come on,” said Mrs. Nadin. “If we dunna get gone there’ll be noo gettin’ out ’cos o’ the crush.”
She turned briskly away to the distant exit towards which already a steady flow was going. Mr. Nadin said, “Comin’, Jack?”
“Non yet. I’ll stay through,” he answered.
Flo glanced her thanks, wondering whether he noticed her burning cheeks. Then, too, she turned and hurried after Mrs. Nadin.
There was a crowd on Bakewell Station. Farmers stood in groups discussing what they had seen, occasionally breaking into gusty laughter. Several times Flo heard behind her, “How go, Emmott!” Mr. Nadin answered, “Non so bad. How’s yourself?” but kept meekly in Mrs. Nadin’s wake. She went up the platform to be in position to get in the front part of the train. Then the train was coming up the long straight line from Derby. A corridor coach drew up in their front, and Mrs. Nadin was in the first surge to the door, using elbows and her umbrella skilfully. Flo got held back and went up the step and through the door the thirteenth person after her. She did not know whether to turn right or left, but chanced left, and on the third seat found Mrs. Nadin with her umbrella guarding a place for her. She wedged in thankfully. Mr. Nadin was a moment or two in arriving, moving slowly up the aisle in the long stream.
“I’ll goo on; maybe there’ll be summat farther up,” he announced.
They had their backs to the engine and could not watch him; Mrs. Nadin tried to, but the table between the pairs of seats prevented her. The whistle blew. The train got going with long powerful chuffs, very slowly at first, suggesting that the load it had just taken on was rather more than it had expected. Flo gazed past Mrs. Nadin through the big observation window. Suddenly her hand gripped on the table in front of her. She glanced at Mrs. Nadin. The little woman was searching in her handbag.
“You haven’t lost anything, have you?” said Flo, unable in so brief a time to think of anything better.
“Non that I know of,” said Mrs. Nadin ungraciously.