“James,” said his owner after the scales had told their tale, “is there nothing more you can do?”
“No, sir; nothin’.”
“Are you shaved and hair-cut?”
“Half an hour ago.”
“Nails?”
The jockey showed his nails. They were trimmed to the quick.
“You’d better get your tonsils cut, James.”
But this, too, had been done.
“Well, then, James,” said the owner, “there’s nothing for it but to have your appendix taken out. Hurry off to the hospital now, or you’ll be too late.”