The teacher nodded, not knowing quite how to take him. "Had my knee unsot, too," he went on, lifting his knee as he turned the light upon it. "Jes' put yer finger there," said he, indicating a slight protuberance. "Lord! it's big as a bog spavin." He had planned to provoke a query, and it came. "How did you get it?" "Kicked ag'in," said Tunk, sadly. "Heavens! I've had my share o' bangin'. Can't conquer a skittish hoss without sufferin' some--not allwus. Now, here's a boss," he added, as they walked to a stall. "He ain't much t' look at, but--" He paused a moment as he neared the horse--a white and ancient palfrey. He stood thoughtfully on "cocked ankles," every leg in a bandage, tail and mane braided, "Get ap, Prince," Tunk shouted, as he gave him a slap. Prince moved aside, betraying evidence of age and infirmity. "But--" Tunk repeated with emphasis. "Ugly?" the teacher queried. "Ugly!" said Tunk, as if the word were all too feeble for the fact in hand. "Reg'lar hell on wheels!--that's what he is. Look out! don't git too nigh him. He ain't no conscience--that hoss ain't." "Is he fast?" "Greased lightnin'!" said Tunk, shaking his head. "Won twenty-seven races." "You're a good deal of a horseman, I take it." said the teacher. "Wal, some," said he, expectorating thoughtfully. "But I don't have no chance here. What d'ye 'spect of a man livin,' with them ol' maids ?" He seemed to have more contempt than his words would carry. "Every night they lock me upstairs," he continued with a look of injury; "they ain't fit fer nobody t' live with. Ain't got no hoss but that dummed ol' plug." He had forgotten his enthusiasm of the preceding moment. His intellect was a museum of freaks. Therein, Vanity was the prodigious fat man, Memory the dwarf, and Veracity the living skeleton. When Vanity rose to show himself, the others left the stage.