Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own PeopleKipling, Rudyard
History
Life's Handicap: Being Stories of Mine Own People
Kipling, Rudyard
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction; India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
After breakfast Strickland said to me, ‘Don’t go. Stay here, and stay
for the night.’
Seeing that my house was not three miles from Strickland’s, this request
was absurd. But Strickland insisted, and was going to say something when
Fleete interrupted by declaring in a shamefaced way that he felt hungry
again. Strickland sent a man to my house to fetch over my bedding and a
horse, and we three went down to Strickland’s stables to pass the hours
until it was time to go out for a ride. The man who has a weakness for
horses never wearies of inspecting them; and when two men are killing
time in this way they gather knowledge and lies the one from the other.
There were five horses in the stables, and I shall never forget the
scene as we tried to look them over. They seemed to have gone mad. They
reared and screamed and nearly tore up their pickets; they sweated and
shivered and lathered and were distraught with fear. Strickland’s
horses used to know him as well as his dogs; which made the matter more
curious. We left the stable for fear of the brutes throwing themselves
in their panic. Then Strickland turned back and called me. The horses
were still frightened, but they let us ‘gentle’ and make much of them,
and put their heads in our bosoms.
‘They aren’t afraid of US,’ said Strickland. ‘D’you know, I’d give three
months’ pay if OUTRAGE here could talk.’
But Outrage was dumb, and could only cuddle up to his master and blow
out his nostrils, as is the custom of horses when they wish to explain
things but can’t. Fleete came up when we were in the stalls, and as soon
as the horses saw him, their fright broke out afresh. It was all that we
could do to escape from the place unkicked. Strickland said, ‘They don’t
seem to love you, Fleete.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Fleete; ‘my mare will follow me like a dog.’ He went
to her; she was in a loose-box; but as he slipped the bars she plunged,
knocked him down, and broke away into the garden. I laughed, but
Strickland was not amused. He took his moustache in both fists and
pulled at it till it nearly came out. Fleete, instead of going off to
chase his property, yawned, saying that he felt sleepy. He went to the
house to lie down, which was a foolish way of spending New Year’s Day.
Strickland sat with me in the stables and asked if I had noticed
anything peculiar in Fleete’s manner. I said that he ate his food like
a beast; but that this might have been the result of living alone in the
hills out of the reach of society as refined and elevating as ours for
instance. Strickland was not amused. I do not think that he listened to
me, for his next sentence referred to the mark on Fleete’s breast, and
I said that it might have been caused by blister-flies, or that it was
possibly a birth-mark newly born and now visible for the first time.
We both agreed that it was unpleasant to look at, and Strickland found
occasion to say that I was a fool.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account