"Not only a brass band, but a very brassy band indeed; a brass band all drum, trombone, and cymbal! A brass band that could be heard for miles!"
"And he bore it well?" asked the ex-soldier. "He did not mind the noise?"
"Not he," was the reply. "Why should he mind it? For remember he was accustomed to insults from the clown. When a horse regards insults from the clown with equanimity, you may be sure he will object to nothing."
"And what were the nature of these insults?" queried the veteran warrior, with renewed interest. "Did the clown push him about? Did he tell him to gee-up?"
"Why, certainly. Had he been an unruly crowd at Blackheath on a Bank Holiday, the clown could not have behaved worse. And Rufus, poor beast! bore it all—six nights a week, with a matinée thrown in on a Saturday—without complaining."
"And you do not think he would mind being called 'cat's-meat?' Not even by a rude boy?"
"Bless you, Sir, it is what I often call him myself. Rufus is his name, but cat's-meat is his nature. But don't you want him for more than a day? Won't you buy him?"
"No," returned the veteran soldier, sternly. "I only require him for the Ninth."
"He is getting too old for cabwork," argued the well-read driver. "He would make a splendid charger for the adjutant of a Yeomanry corps, and out of training might be put in the harness of a bathing-machine. No, pray don't interrupt me, Sir. You are going to urge that he would be useless in the winter. But no, Sir, you are wrong. He might take round coal (in small quantities), when the nights draw in. Can I not tempt you, Sir? You shall have him a bargain. Shall we say a penny a pound?"
"I have already told you," replied the warrior, "that I have need of him only on the 9th. You understand, the 9th of next month."