mine. Most horses are monotonous. They tire
on you. But swell out the ribs, and there you have a horse that always
pleases the eye and appeals to the finer sensibilities of the mind.
Besides, you are always perfectly certain that he has his full number
of ribs, and that the man you buy him of is not keeping back a single,
solitary bone. Your horse is all there, and you go to bed at night
comfortable because you know it. That's the way I look at it; and
without caring to have it mentioned around, I don't mind telling you
that I know a man who came all the way from Georgia to buy my horse
simply because he heard that his ribs stuck out. I got my bid in ahead
of him, and he went home the worst disgusted man you ever saw.

"And about his having glanders and botts and blind staggers and a raw
shoulder, I can tell you that those things never attack any but a
thoroughbred horse; and for my part, I made up my mind years ago, when
I was a child, that if any man ever offered me a horse that hadn't
blind staggers I wouldn't take him as a gift. Now, that's as true as
you're alive. Professor Owen says that so far from regarding glanders
as a disease he considers it the crowning glory of a good horse, and
he wants the English government to pass a law inoculating every horse
on the island with it. You write to him and ask him if that ain't so."

And so Butterwick put his phenomenal horse in his stable, hired an
Irishman to take care of it, and possessed his soul in peace. However,
before he fairly had a chance to enjoy his purchase, he was summoned
to St. Louis to look after some business matters, and he was detained
there for about six weeks. During his absence Mrs. Butterwick assumed
the responsibility for the management of the horse; and as she knew
as much about taking care of horses as she did about conducting the
processes of the sidereal system, the result was that Mr. Butterwick's
horse was the unconscious parent of infinite disaster. When Butterwick
returned and had kissed his wife and talked over his journey, the
following conversation ensued. Mrs. Butterwick said,

"You know our horse, dearest?"

"Yes, sweet; how is he getting along?"

"Not so _very_ well; he has cost a great deal of money since you've
been away."

"Indeed?"

"Yes; besides his regular feed and Patrick's wages as hostler, I have
on hand unpaid bills to the amount of two thousand dollars on his
account."

"Two thousand! Why, Emma, you amaze me! Wha