Und. (to himself). Does this man suppose I collect hoofs! However, I'm not going to commit myself. (Aloud.) H'm—well, I—I rather agree with Mr. Checkley.
Check. I knew he would! Now you've got it, Adams! I can see Mr. Undershell knows what he's about.
Adams (persistently). But look at this 'ere pastern. You can't deny there's puffiness there. How do you get over that?
Und. If the horse is puffy, it's his business to get over it—not mine.
Adams (aggrieved). You may think proper to treat it light, Sir; but if you put your 'and down 'ere, above the coronet, you'll feel a throbbing as plain as——
Und. Very likely. But I don't know, really, that it would afford me any particular gratification if I did!
Adams. Well, if you don't take my view, I should ha' thought as you'd want to feel the 'orse's pulse.
Und. You are quite mistaken. I don't. (To himself.) Particularly as I shouldn't know where to find it. What a bore this fellow is with his horse!
Check. In course, Sir, you see what's running in Mr. Adams' 'ed all this time, what he's a-driving at, eh?
Und. (to himself). I only wish I did! This will require tact. (Aloud.) I—I could hardly avoid seeing that—could I?