ABOUT BUYING A HORSE. 



153 



of the whip than I should do of a Ky on somebody else's 

 nose. 



Double the dose. Two flicks of the whip and two impe- 

 rious "tcliks." No effect. 



Treble it. Three flicks, sharp 'uns, and one aimed at his 

 ear. He rouses himself, shakes his head, — is he going to be 

 vicious— if so, I am prepared. No — he shakes himself again 

 with such a shiver as makes his harness rattle, and then 

 stands " as he was." 



This is puzzling. 



Happy Thought. — Murgle shall lead him out. Murgle 

 does so. We are in the lane. The horse is walking. 

 Murgle mounts behind. We have gained one point. We 

 are in motion. The horse walks along lazily, very much as 

 if he was looking out for some convenient place by the road- 

 side where to lie down and doze. 



Tchk ! flick !— Flick, tchk.— Get up ! Get along then- 

 Get on then !— Come up ! ! Tchk, flick, flick, flick — Swish, 

 swish, Schw^ack I 



Schvjack is meant to convey the temper I put into the last 

 lash. 



The Grey aw^akes with a " hallo-anybody-speaking-to-me " 

 sort of manner, and goes into a trot. Such a trot. A jog. 

 Exactly what has been named a "jog-trot." He is the very 

 picture of conventionality and Conservatism. Jog-trot — 

 jog-trot— jog-trot — as if there was no such thing as a train 

 to catch — as if there were no telegraphs, and that he, the 

 Grey, had the monopoly of taking messages at his own pace* 



