SWEET. Well, I feel a little better, but there’s something gone! I’m sure I felt it go! (unbuttoning his waistcoat and feeling)
SHORT. Yes, it’s one of your brace buttons, don’t you see.
MRS. SHORT. (to MRS. SWEET) How pale you are, Fanny!
MRS. SWEET. (recovering from her alarm) It is passing off now. I have had a little fright, that’s all.
SHORT. (to SWEET) You would go showing off your horsemanship, and see what has come of it.
SWEET. Not at all, I assure you. I was going along as quietly as possible, getting gradually more confident and comfortable, when all of a sudden a cursed little brute of a cur ran out of a yard close by, and flew at the horse’s throat. I thought something was going to happen by the look of the mare’s ears—and just as I was about to let go the bridle and catch hold of the mane, up went her heels into the air, and I was shot like a bullet from a gun slap over her head into the road.
SHORT. And poor little pug was kicked to death, I suppose.
SWEET. No, I had my revenge.
SHORT. How do you mean?