There's a grocer who is notorious for his wretched horse flesh.
The grocer's boy is rather a reckless driver. He drove one of his master's worst nags a little too hard one day, and the animal fell ill and died.
"You've killed my horse, curse you!" the grocer said to the boy the next morning.
"I'm sorry, boss," the lad faltered.
"Sorry be durned!" shouted the grocer. "Who's going to pay me for my horse?"
"I'll make it all right, boss," said the boy soothingly. "You can take it out of my next Saturday's wages."
Before Abraham Lincoln became President he was called out of town on important law business. As he had a long distance to travel he hired a horse from a livery stable. When a few days later he returned he took the horse back to the stable and asked the man who had given it to him: "Keep this horse for funerals?"
"No, indeed," answered the man indignantly.