ngs. His short silvery hair glistened respectably in the
sunshine: he had preserved unblemished from some earlier phase of his
career the air of a family coachman out of place. It veiled, though it
could not conceal, the dissolute twinkle in his eye as he replied:--

"He said sir, if it wasn't that she was something out of condition, he'd
recommend you to send her out to the lions at the Zoo!"

The specimen of veterinary humour had hardly the success that had been
hoped for it. Rupert Gunning's face was so remarkably void of
appreciation that Mr. Brennan abruptly relapsed into gloom.

"He said he'd only be wasting his time with her, sir; he might as well
go stitch a bog-hole as them wounds the window gave her; the tendon of
the near fore is the same as in two halves with it, let alone the
shoulder, that's worse again with her pitching out on the point of it."

"Was that all he had to say?" demanded the mare's owner.

"Well, beyond those remarks he passed about the Zoo, I should say it
was, sir," admitted Mr. Brennan.

There was another pause, during which Rupert asked himself what the
devil he was to do with the mare, and Mr. Brennan, thoroughly aware that
he was doing so, decorously thumbed the brim of his hat.

"Maybe we might let her get the night, sir," he said, after a respectful
interval, "and you might see her yourself in the morning--"

"I don't want to see her. I know well enough what she looks like,"
interrupted his client irritably. "Anyhow, I'm crossing to England
to-night, and I don't choose to miss the boat for the fun of looking at
an unfortunate brute that's cut half to pieces!"

Mr. Brennan cleared his throat. "If you were thinking to leave her in my
stables, sir," he said firmly, "I'd sooner be quit of her. I've only a
small place, and I'd lose too much time with her if I had to keep her
the way she is. She might be on my hands three months and die at the end
of it."

The clock here struck the quarter, at which Mr. Gunning ought to start
for his train at Westland Row.

"You see, sir--" recommenced Brennan. It was precisely at this point
that Mr. Gunning lost his temper.

"I suppose you can find time to shoot her," he said, with a very red
face. "Kindly do so to-night!"

Mr. Brennan's arid countenance revealed no emotion. He was accustomed to
understanding his clients a trifle better than they understood
themselves, and inscrutable though Mr. Gunning's original motive in
buying the mare h