An artistic friend who at one time of his life resided near the great horse-training centre of Middleham, in Yorkshire, gave a steak supper at the principal inn, to some of the stable attendants. The fare was highly approved of.
“Best Scotch beef I ever put tooth into!” observed the “head lad” at old Tom Lawson’s stables.
“Ah!” returned the host, who was a bit of a wag, “your beef was cut from a colt of Lord Glasgow’s that was thought highly of at one time; and he was shot the day before yesterday.”
And it was so. For Lord Glasgow never sold nor gave away a horse, but had all his “failures” shot.
And then a great cry went up for brown brandy.
[CHAPTER XVII]
“CAMPING OUT”
“Thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on.”