It is the assumption of simplicity that does the trick, and so well is that put on that it comes close to the real thing.
The other day, when the King and Queen were at Punchestown, a Britisher chartered a car at Naas to drive out to the course, and on the way remonstrated with the carman on the starved condition of his horse, whose ribs would have served for an anatomical study.
'Well, your honour,' the jarvey explained, 'it's an unlucky horse.'
'How unlucky?' asked the Englishman.
'Well, it's this way, your honour. Each morning I toss with that horse whether he shall have his feed of oats or I have my glass of whisky, and would your honour credit it, the horse has lost these ten days past.'
I am reminded of the reply given by Lord Derby to a gentleman who sent him a dozen of very light claret, which he said would suit his gout. Lord Derby subsequently thanked him, but said he preferred the gout, and I have no doubt that that horse, had he been able to give tongue, would have been an ardent upholder of teetotalism when it ensured him a feed of oats.
One more story of Lord Derby, as I have just mentioned his name:—
A worthy trader had bothered him to let him stand for a certain borough on the Tory ticket, but the Whig was returned unopposed on the day of the nomination, and the candidate was subsequently attacked by Lord Derby for not coming forward as he had promised.
The man was almost as shaky in his aspirates as in his political propensities, and his reply was:—
'I would have stood, my lord, but there was a 'itch in the way.'