_Stable-help_ (_anxiously_). Why, he used to be a stunner, and a safe and steady runner, And we trusted him, most confident, for landing us the Stakes Now, what can the cause of _this_ be? He's a-looking queer and quisby; And his off fore leg seems shaky, and the rest ain't no _great_ shakes. _Groom_ (_sharply_). Not too much of it, you HARRY! You are here to fetch and carry, And not to pass opinions in the presence of the Vet. But he _does_ look dicky, Mister; I've tried bolus, I've tried blister, But I haven't got him up to his old form by chalks, Sir, _yet_! _Vet._ (_dubiously_). You're a bit new at the "biz.," lad, and I tell you what it is, lad,-- These thoroughbreds aren't managed like a dray-horse, don'tcher know. They want very careful feeding, and Sangrado purge or bleeding Won't suit our modern strain--of man _or_ horse. Steady, lad! Woa! [_Examines him._ _Groom_ (_rather sulkily_). Well, Sir, what do you make it? _Vet._ Off his feed? _Groom_. Well, he don't take it. Not voracious, so to speak, Sir, as he do when cherry ripe. _Vet._ Ah-h-h! May want a change of diet. Eye is neither bright _nor_ quiet, And his coat seems dull and roughish, though he's sound in pulse and pipe. _Stable-help_. Don't take kindly to his fodder, and, what _I_ thinks even odder, With a temper like a hangel, gits a bit inclined to kick. Landed _'Art Dyke_ a fair wunner! _Groom_ (_testily_). Well, you are an eighty-tonner At superfluous patter, HARRY! _Stable-help_ (_aside_). Lor! _His_ temper's gitting quick! What has been and popped the acid in his style so prim and placid? Doesn't shine like what he thought to as head-groom. Yus, there's the rub! _Vet._ (_looking at sieve_). Seem to shy _that_ feed! _Groom_. I mixed it with the greatest care, and fixed it With an eye to tempt his appetite, but there, he's off his grub! _Vet._ (_to Stable-help_). Takes your green stuff better? _Stable-help_. True, Sir! _Groom_. But too much o' that won't do, Sir. Can't live on tares entirely! (_Aside._) This here boy's too full of beans. _Vet._ Ah! I see the whole position. He's a bit out of condition, Wants a tonic and skilled treatment. Yes, no doubt that's what it means. With an appetite that's picksome comes a temper tart and tric But a pick-me-up--I'll send one--will, I'm sure set all that square. And if there's further wasting, then, without too headlong hasting, Give him, as soon as possible--a little _Country Air_! * * * * * LORD WILDERMERE'S MOTHER-IN-LAW.