“And when you talk about his ribs showing so plainly through his sides, you prove that you have a very singular want of taste.  Which is handsomer, a flat wall or a wall with a surface varied with columns and pilasters?  Well, then, when you take a horse, no man who loves art wants to see him smooth and even from stem to stern.  What you want is a varied surface—­a little bit of hill and a little bit of valley; and you get it in a horse like mine.  Most horses are monotonous.  They tire on you.  But swell out the ribs, and there you have a horse that always pleases the eye and appeals to the finer sensibilities of the mind.  Besides, you are always perfectly certain that he has his full number of ribs, and that the man you buy him of is not keeping back a single, solitary bone.  Your horse is all there, and you go to bed at night comfortable because you know it.  That’s the way I look at it; and without caring to have it mentioned around, I don’t mind telling you that I know a man who came all the way from Georgia to buy my horse simply because he heard that his ribs stuck out.  I got my bid in ahead of him, and he went home the worst disgusted man you ever saw.

“And about his having glanders and botts and blind staggers and a raw shoulder, I can tell you that those things never attack any but a thoroughbred horse; and for my part, I made up my mind years ago, when I was a child, that if any man ever offered me a horse that hadn’t blind staggers I wouldn’t take him as a gift.  Now, that’s as true as you’re alive.  Professor Owen says that so far from regarding glanders as a disease he considers it the crowning glory of a good horse, and he wants the English government to pass a law inoculating every horse on the island with it.  You write to him and ask him if that ain’t so.”

And so Butterwick put his phenomenal horse in his stable, hired an Irishman to take care of it, and possessed his soul in peace.  However, before he fairly had a chance to enjoy his purchase, he was summoned to St. Louis to look after some business matters, and he was detained there for about six weeks.  During his absence Mrs. Butterwick assumed the responsibility for the management of the horse; and as she knew as much about taking care of horses as she did about conducting the processes of the sidereal system, the result was that Mr. Butterwick’s horse was the unconscious parent of infinite disaster.  When Butterwick returned and had kissed his wife and talked over his journey, the following conversation ensued.  Mrs. Butterwick said,

“You know our horse, dearest?”

“Yes, sweet; how is he getting along?”

“Not so very well; he has cost a great deal of money since you’ve been away.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes; besides his regular feed and Patrick’s wages as hostler, I have on hand unpaid bills to the amount of two thousand dollars on his account.”

“Two thousand!  Why, Emma, you amaze me!  What on earth does it mean?”