The Major looked at him in amazement. “I ride an American horse! What do you mean, sir?” he demanded.
“The chestnut horse,” began Mr. Carteret, with a gesture toward the upper stable.
“The chestnut horse,” said the Major, “I bought at Tattersalls three days ago. I know nothing about him except that he was quite the image of Prince Royal, a great sire that I once owned.”
“That is hardly surprising,” said Mr. Carteret; “Prince Royal is his father. I’m certain about it because he’s marked with our Prince Royal brand.”
The Major and Lady Withers looked at Mr. Carteret, and then at each other. Their eyes seemed to say, “We must humor this person until attendants from the madhouse can be brought to secure him.”
“Perhaps,” said Lady Withers, “you would care to see your horses.”
“I should like to see the other one,” he answered stubbornly, and they went into the stable.
Lady Withers paused before a box-stall which was boarded up to the ceiling. She cautiously opened the upper half of the door, and peered through the grating. Inside was a strange, thick-shouldered, goose-rumped, lop-eared brown creature covered with shaggy wool. It stood on three legs, and carried its head low like a member of the cat family.
“To me,” said Lady Withers, “it looks like a bear; but I am assured that it is a horse. I would advise you not to go near it. This is the one that bit dear Cecil.”
The two Americans gazed in amazement.