270 THE HUNTING FIELD 



jobbers and dealers — but those days are about past 

 — gentlemen haggle just as hard as the hucksters. 

 To this rule, however, we must add that Mr. Milksop 

 was an exception. His father, old Viscount Creamjug 

 of Papcastle Tower, had instilled good old-fashioned 

 gentlemanly ideas into his mind, and Mr. Milksop 

 invariably acted up to them. Honourable himself, 

 he had no suspicion of dishonesty in others — a fine 

 healthy feeling, but one that is not exactly adapted 

 to this extremely sharp world of ours. Be that as it 

 may, the Captain got his price, and how the horse 

 turned out will soon appear. 



Captain Shabbyhounde, like most of the puffing, 

 advertising tradespeople, not expecting to do business 

 with the same person a second time, always made a 

 point of bilking the groom, when he accomplished a 

 sale by himself, and he did not depart from his custom 

 in the present instance. Indeed, there does seem 

 something superlatively silly in feeing a servant, 

 because we have taken it into our head to buy a 

 horse. We might just as well fee the housemaid on 

 buying a broom, the dairymaid on buying a cow, or 

 the man or boy on buying a hat. 



Nobody who knew the Captain, or rather no one 

 who did not know him, but who heard him talk, could 

 doubt for a moment that his objection was founded 

 on pure principle. He denounced it as an absurdity, 

 as a mere premium for dissatisfaction, and the urging 

 of frequent changes on the part of servants. 



When, however, the deal was not to be accom- 

 plished without, our friend knew how to plant a 

 sovereign, or even a five pound note, as well as 

 anybody. The Captain indeed was the creature of 

 circumstance, now liberal, now mean, just as it suited 

 his purpose. The character is a common one, and 

 we need not describe it further. 



When Mr. Strutt, Mr. Milksop's valet and stud- 

 groom, heard that he had presumed to purchase a 





