“I can’t say that I will just at present,” said the parson. “What
should I want of him now the season’s over?”
“Exactly, my dear fellow; and what do I want of him now the season’s
over? If it were the beginning of October instead of the end of
March, Dandy would be up at two hundred and thirty instead of one: in
six months’ time that horse will be worth anything you like to ask
for him. Look at his bone.”
The vicar did look at his bones, examining the brute in a very
knowing and unclerical manner. He lifted the animal’s four feet, one
after another, handling the frogs, and measuring with his eye the
proportion of the parts; he passed his hand up and down the legs,
spanning the bones of the lower joint; he peered into his eyes, took
into consideration the width of his chest, the dip of his back, the
form of his ribs, the curve of his haunches, and his capabilities
for breathing when pressed by work. And then he stood away a little,
eyeing him from the side, and taking in a general idea of the form
and make of the whole. “He seems to stand over a little, I think,”
said the parson.
“It’s the lie of the ground. Move him about, Bob. There now, let him
stand there.”
“He’s not perfect,” said Mark. “I don’t quite like his heels; but no
doubt he’s a nicish cut of a horse.”
“I rather think he is. If he were perfect, as you say, he would not
be going into your stables for a hundred and thirty. Do you ever
remember to have seen a perfect horse?”
“Your mare Mrs. Gamp was as nearly perfect as possible.”
“Even Mrs. Gamp had her faults. In the first place she was a bad
feeder. But one certainly doesn’t often come across anything much
better than Mrs. Gamp.” And thus the matter was talked over between
them with much stable conversation, all of which tended to make
Sowerby more and more oblivious of his friend’s sacred profession,
and perhaps to make the vicar himself too frequently oblivious of it
also. But no: he was not oblivious of it. He was even mindful of it;
but mindful of it in such a manner that his thoughts on the subject
were nowadays always painful.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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