I.P. Have they indeed, now?  And what have you done with the horse?

C.G. Put it into livery close by, Sir.  And, unless I can find a good master for it, by Jove, I’ll take it back again, and give it away to a friend.  Perhaps, Sir, you’d like to have a look at the animal.  The stables are only in the next street, and—­as a friend, and with no eye to business—­I should be pleased to show poor Bogey to anyone so sympathetic as yourself.

    [I.P., after some further chat of a friendly nature, agrees
    to go and “run his eye over him."

SCENE II.—­Greengrocer’s yard at side of a seedy house in a shabby street, slimy and straw-bestrewn.  Yard is paved with lumpy, irregular cobbles, and some sooty and shaky-looking sheds stand at the bottom thereof.  Enter together, Clerical Gent and Inexperienced Person.

C.G. (smiling apologetically).  Not exactly palatial premises for an animal used to my stables at Wickham-in-the-Wold!  But I know these people, Sir; they are kind as Christians, and as honest as the day.  Hoy!  TOM!  TOM!!  TOM!!!  Are you there, TOM? [From the shed emerges a very small boy with very short hair, and a very long livery, several sizes too large for him, the tail of the brass-buttoned coat and the bottoms of the baggy trousers alike sweeping the cobbles as he shambles forward]. (C.G. genially.) Ah, there you are, TOM, my lad.  Bring out dear old Bogey, and show it to my friend here. [Boy leads out a rusty roan Rosinante, high in bone, and low in flesh, with prominent hocks, and splay hoofs, which stumble gingerly over the cobbles.] (Patting the horse affectionately.) Ah, poor old Bogey, he doesn’t like these lumpy stones, does he?  Not used to them, Sir.  My stable-yard at Wickham-in-the-Wold, is as smoothly paved as—­as the Alhambra, Sir.  I always consider my animals, Sir.  A merciful man is merciful to his beast, as the good book says.  But isn’t he a Beauty?

I.P. Well—­ahem!—­ye-es; he looks a kind, gentle, steady sort of a creature.  But—­ahem!—­what’s the matter with his knees?

C.G. Oh, nothing, Sir, nothing at all.  Only a habit he has got along of kind treatment.  Like us when we “stand at ease,” you know, a bit baggy, that’s all.  You should see him after a twenty miles spin along our Wickham roads, when my wife and I are doing a round of visits among the neighbouring gentry.  Ah, Bogey, Bogey, old boy—­kissing his nose—­I don’t know what Mrs. G. and the girls will say when they hear I’ve parted with you—­if I do, if I do.

    Enter two horsey-looking Men as though in search of
    something.

First Horsey Man.  Ah, here you are.  Well, look ’ere, are you going to take Thirty Pounds for that horse o’ yourn?  Yes or No!

C.G. (turning upon them with dignity). No, Sir; most emphatically No! I’ve told you before I will not sell him to you at any price.  Have the goodness to leave us—­at once, I’m engaged with my friend here.