Black. Don't wonder, the way you over-eat yourself.
Bay. Ever know a Quartermaster's horse that didn't? He's the only one that gets the chance.
Skewbald. And the Officers' chargers.
Voice from over the way. Well, we need it, don't we? We do all the bally headwork.
Bay. Hearken even unto the Honourable Montmorency. Hello, Monty there! Never mind about the bally headwork, but next time you're out troop-leading try to steer a course somewhat approaching the straight. You had the line opening and shutting like a concertina this morning.
An iron-grey. Begob, and that's the holy truth! I thought my ribs was goin' ivery minnut, an' me man was cursin' undher his breath the way you'd hear him a mile away. Ye've no more idea of a straight line, Monty avic, than a crab wid dhrink taken.
Monty. Sorry, but the flies were giving me gyp.
Canadian dun. Flies? Say, but you greenhorns make me smile. Why, out West we got flies that——
Iron grey. Och sure we've heard all about thim. 'Tis as big as bulldogs they are; ivery time they bite you you lose a limb. Many a time the traveller has observed thim flyin' away wid a foal in their jaws, the rapparees! F' all that I do be remarkin' that whin one of the effete European variety is afther ticklin' you in the short hairs you step very free an' flippant, Johnny, acushla.
A brown horse. Say, Monty, old top, any news? You've got a pal at G.H.Q., haven't you?