"What is that for?" I inquired, pointing at the cloth.
"Effendi, I put it on him because I was afraid that he might catch cold," replied the owner.
"Never mind, take it off. When I buy horses I like to see them first."
"He thinks, sir," remarked my faithful servant, "that we buy 'orses as they marry their wives—that is, without looking at them. I should not be surprised, sir, if that 'ere 'orse had a sore back."
The man's remark proved true, and on taking off the cloth a raw place of at least six inches square was exposed to view.
"He has a sore back," I remarked to the owner. "Take him away."
"Sore back! Yes, he has; it will soon get well. The Effendi would like this horse though, and he is a great friend of the horse the Effendi has just looked at—they eat out of the same manger. The Effendi had better buy him."
"Get on that little bay," I said to my servant, not paying any attention to the Turk's observation. As my man went past at a trot, I heard a sound which at once made me aware that there was something the matter with the horse's wind.
"He is a roarer," I remarked.
"Effendi, he makes a noise, but he is stout and strong. He would make a capital pack-horse."