“_Plenty_ of dangerous horses about, sir,” answered Tips, preparing to make himself comfortable—“_plenty_ of ’em, more’s the pity, even for horse-breakers and such-like, as I am myself. We never get no credit of them. Even if we get them pretty handy, and return them as quiet to ride or drive, why as soon as they’re back in their own stable, they begin at their old tricks again. There was one as I had from Mr. Mohair, the draper in Waterborough; a grey he was, and up to all manner of games. Wouldn’t go by the milliner’s shop in the High Street, not at no price. Mrs. Mohair was just mad about it, sir, I can tell you. Well, they sent him over to me to break; and says the missus to me, says she, when I took him away, ‘Break the spirit of him, Mr. Tips,’ says she, ‘if whip and spur will do it. And don’t let me see of him backing and sidling into the windows of them bold hussies again,’ says she, ‘not if you cut him into ribbons for it!’ You see the ladies is mostly for strong measures,—asking your pardon, Miss,—’specially where there’s other ladies concerned. Well, I didn’t cut him into ribbons, I didn’t, because it’s not my way; but I coaxed and humoured of him, and once or twice when we _did_ have a tussle, I showed him pretty plainly who was master: and I rode him backwards and forwards into Waterborough and what not, and he passed the milliner’s windows and took no more notice than if there hadn’t been a pretty girl in the whole shop, front or back. So I takes him to Mr. Mohair, and says I, ‘You may ride him anywheres now, sir,’ says I, ‘for if you do but shake a whip at him, he goes as quiet as a lamb.’ And I charged him for the horse’s keep, and a sovereign besides, and so thought no more about it.