Her Pretty Friend. And then did he go where your brother wanted him to?
The Sister. Oh yes, at last. (ROBERT breathes more freely.) Only without ROBERT. [ROBERT wonders bitterly why on earth a fellow's Sisters should try to make him out a regular muff like this.
[Two more horses are brought out, put in double harness in the light waggon, and driven round the Arena by the Professor. A steam whistle is let off over their heads, whereupon they rear and plunge, and back frantically, the Professor discoursing unperturbed from the waggon. After a few repetitions of this, the horses find the steam-whistle out as a brazen impostor, and become hardened sceptics from that moment. They despise the Comic Groom when he prances at them with a flag, and the performance of the Serious Man on the cymbals only inspires them with grave concern on his account. The bundle of coloured rags is let down suddenly on their heads, and causes them nothing but contemptuous amusement; crackers bang about their heels—and they pretend to be pleased; the Funny Groom (who is, by this time, almost unrecognisable with sawdust), gets on the near horse's back and bangs the drum on his head, but they are merely pained by his frivolity. Finally he throws an armful of old newspapers at them, and they exhibit every sign of boredom. After this, they are unharnessed and sent back to their boxes—a pair of equine Stoics who are past surprise at anything on this earth.]
The Prof. (concluding amidst loud applause). Ladies and Gentlemen, I have only To say that I don't carry any horses About with me, and that if anyone here has a vicious Or nervous animal, and likes to send him to me, I will undertake to handle him free of all charge.
Paterf. I shall have Tartar sent here—less trouble than trying the methods myself—and safer.
Prof. And after I have treated the animal as you have seen, the Proprietor will only have to repeat the process himself for a week or so, and I guarantee he will have a thoroughly broke horse.
The Daughter. There, you see, Father, some of the taming will have to be done at home!
Paterf. (who doesn't quite see himself dancing about Tartar with a drum, or brandishing an umbrella on his back). Well, TOPPIN will take the horse over, and he'll be here and see how it's done. I can't be bothered with it myself. I've too much to do!
The Daughter. I wish you would. I'm sure Tartar would rather you tamed him than TOPPIN!
[Paterf. while privately of opinion that this is not unlikely, sees no necessity to consider his horse's preferences in the matter.