234 
ALMOST HUMAN 
he begs for the mane, for a shoe, or the fetlock, or the tail, as a memento. 
Mr. Wilkie naturally promises this boon, and when he asks: 
‘‘Will you wait and see him shot?” the man puts both hands over 
his ears as he makes a bolt for his vehicle, for fear the horse will be 
killed there and then. 
“Whatever you do,” he shouts in desperation, “don’t shoot till I’m 
out of earshot! I wouldn’t for a twenty-pound note see him fall!” 
And as he dashes away an unbidden tear he goes like one possessed, 
fearing that despite his warning he will hear one clear shot ring out 
that will toll the knell of his favorite, and ring in his memory for days 
and nights to come, as he accuses himself of sacrificing his faithful friend. 
Often financial troubles mingle with sentiment over the sacrifice of 
a horse. Many a poor animal, overworked on the streets, reaches the 
stage where it is downright cruelty to give it another tramp, and the 
police or the inspectors for the Society for the Protection of Animals 
order the owner to take it to the Zoo or else stand a trial for cruelty, 
in which case there will be a fine and costs to pay, as well as the con- 
fiscation of the animal to suffer. These horses are usually the property 
of poor men who are dependent upon them for their livelihood, and 
naturally such cases are as pathetic as can be borne. In the cab ranks, 
at the markets, wherever men ply for hire, the inspectors are constantly 
busy weeding out the victims of overwork and under-feeding, and the 
Zoo authorities are as kind as their coffers will allow in these cases. They 
always try to give what will at least be a deposit on another old “crock” 
that has reached the second last stage downwards, but has still sufficient 
vitality left for a few months of work before it must follow its prede- 
cessor to the Zoo compound for the breathing space between a life of 
toil and oblivion. 
A noted steeplechaser came there one day, old, bandy-legged, and 
crooked in every joint. The fearful knocking about he got in his youth 
told sadly in his age, and they were glad to see him die. From broken- 
down race-horses that have gone through life from their high position 
down every gradation of horse society until they have dragged their last 
cab-load, to fine old draught horses whose strength was once as superb 
as the others’ feet were swift, every kind of horse finds its last way 
there, and it is at least pleasing to know of the twilight of peace and 
comfort that precedes the end of these toilers for men. Now and then 
a horse is sacrificed for sentiment in the heyday of his grace and strength. 
After the war broke out a German lady took there a beautiful dapple- 
grey pony about four years old. Her husband had lately died, and he 
had made her promise that if she had no further use for it she would not 
