* * * * *

[Illustration:  “THINGS ARE NOT WHAT THEY SEEM.”

Mr. Foozler (who, while waiting for the last Train, has wandered to the end of the Platform, opened the door of the Signal-box, and watched the Signalman’s manipulations of the levers for some moments with hazy perplexity, suddenly).  “ARF O’ BURT’N ‘N BIRRER F’ ME, GUV’NOR!”]

* * * * *

“OFF HIS FEED!”

    SCENE—­The St. Stephen’s Stables.  Stall of the Favourite,
    “Majority,” who is being inspected by the great “Vet.” 
    (S-L-SB-RY) in presence of the Groom (B-LF-R), and the
    Stable-help (CH-PL-N).

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!