“NOW that Mr. Prawley is back,” I told Isobel, “we can take that trip to
Port Lafayette with Millington,” and it was then Isobel mentioned the
advisability of keeping a horse; but Millington and I, not being afraid
of automobiles, began to go to Port Lafayette in his automobile. As a
rule we began to go every day, and sometimes twice a day, and I must say
for Millington's automobile that it was one of the most patient I have
ever seen. Patient and willing are the very words. It would start for
Port Lafayette as willingly as anything, and go along as patiently as
possible. It was a very patient goer. Haste had no charms for it.
Millington used to come over bright and early and say cheerfully, “Well,
how would you like to take a little run out to Port Lafayette to-day?”
and I would get my cap, and we would go over to his garage and get into
the machine. Then Millington would pull a lever or two, and begin to
listen for noises indicative of internal disorders. As a rule, they
began immediately, but sometimes he would not hear anything that could
be called really serious until we reached the corner of the block. Once,
I remember, and I shall never forget the date, we went three miles
before Millington stopped the car and got out his wrenches and
antiseptic bandages and other surgical tools; but usually the noises
began inside of the block. Then we would push it home, and postpone the
trip for that day, while Millington laboured over the automobile.
“We will get to Port Lafayette yet,” he would say hopefully.
As soon as Isobel mentioned keeping a horse I knew she was beginning to
like suburban life, and I was delighted. Having lived all her life in a
flat, her mind naturally ran to theatres and roof gardens, rather than
to the delights of the suburbs, and her reading still consisted more of
department store bargain sales and advertisements of new plays than
of seed catalogues and ready mixed paints, as a good suburban wife's
reading should; but as soon as she mentioned that it would be nice
to have a horse I knew she was at length falling a victim to the
allurements of our semi-country existence. In order to add fuel to the
flame I took up the suggestion with enthusiasm.
“Isobel,” I said warmly, “that is a splendid idea! A horse is just
what we need to add the finishing touch to our happiness! With these
splendid, tree-bordered roads--”
“A horse that is not afraid of Mr. Millington's automobile,” interposed
Isobel.
“Certainly,” I said, “a horse that you can drive without fear--”
“But not a pokey old thing,” said Isobel.
“By no means,” I agreed; “what we want is a young, fresh horse that can
get over the road--”
“And gentle,” said Isobel. “And strong. And he must be a good-looking
horse. One with a glossy skin. Reddish brown, with a long tail. I
would like a great, big, strong-looking horse, like the Donelleys', but
faster, like the Smiths'.”
“Exactly,” I said. “That's the sort of horse I had in mind. And we will
get the horse immediately. I shall stay at home tomorrow and select
the kind of horse we want, unless Mr. Millington takes me to Port
Lafayette--”
“Now, John,” said Isobel, “you must not be too hasty. You must be
careful. I think the right way to buy a horse is to shop a little first,
and see what people have in stock, and not take the first thing that is
offered, the way you do when you buy shirts. You know how hideous some
of those last shirts are, and the arms far too long, and we don't want
anything like that to happen when you are buying a horse. I have been
talking to Mrs. Rolfs, and she says it is mere folly to buy the first
horse that is offered. Mrs. Rolfs says it stands to reason that a man
who wants to get rid of a horse would be the first man to offer it. As
soon as he learned we wanted a horse he would rush to us with the horse,
so as not to lose the chance of getting rid of it. And Mrs. Millington
says it is worse than foolish to wait until the very last horse is
offered and then buy that one, for the man that hung back in that way
would undoubtedly be the man that did not particularly care to part with
his horse, and would feel that he was doing us a favour, and would ask
a perfectly unreasonable price. The thing to do, John, is to buy, as
nearly as possible, the middle horse that is offered. If twenty-one
horses were offered the thing to do would be to buy the eleventh horse,
and in that way we would be sure to get a good horse at a reasonable
price.”
I told Isobel that what she said was perfectly logical, and that I would
get right to work and frame up an advertisement for the local paper,
saying we wanted a horse and would be glad to examine twenty-one of
them.
“Now, wait a minute,” she said, when I had started for my desk, “and
don't be in too great a hurry. You know the mistake you made in those
last socks you bought, by going into the first store you came to, and
the very first time you put on those socks they wore full of holes. We
don't want a horse that will wear like that. Mrs. Rolfs says we must be
very particular what sort of man we buy our horse from. She says it is
like suicide to buy a horse from a dealer, because a dealer knows so
much more about horses than we do, and is up to so many tricks, that he
would have no trouble at all in fooling us, and we would probably get a
horse that was worth nothing at all. And Mrs. Millington says it is the
greatest mistake in the world to buy a horse from an ordinary suburban
commuter. She says commuters know nothing at all about horses and just
buy them blindfold, and that, if we buy a horse from a commuter, we are
sure to get a worthless horse that the commuter has had foisted upon him
and is anxious to get rid of. The person to buy a horse of, John, is a
person that knows all about horses, but who is not a dealer.”
“My idea exactly,” I told Isobel, and started for my desk again.
“John, dear,” said Isobel, before I had taken two steps, “why are you
always so impetuous? Of course I want a horse, and I would like to have
it as soon as possible, but I believe in exercising a little common
sense. Where, may I ask, are you going to keep the horse when you have
got him?”
Now, this had not occurred to me, but I answered promptly.
“I shall put him out to board,” I said unhesitatingly, and there was
really nothing else I could say, for there was no stable on my place. I
know plenty of suburbanites who keep horses and have them boarded at the
livery stables. But this did not please Isobel.
“You must do nothing of the kind!” said Isobel firmly. “Mrs. Rolfs and
Mrs. Millington both say there is nothing worse for a good horse than
to put it out to board. Mrs. Rolfs says it is much cheaper to keep your
horse in your own bam, and Mrs. Millington says she would have a very
low opinion of any man who would trust his horse to a liveryman. She
says the horse is man's most faithful servant, and should be treated
as such, and that she has not the least doubt that the liveryman
would underfeed our horse, and then let it out to hire to some young
harum-scarum, who would whip it into a gallop until it got overheated,
and then water it when it was so hot the water would sizzle in its
stomach, creating steam and giving it a bad case of colic. And Mrs.
Rolfs says the liveryman would be pleased with this, rather than sorry,
for then he would have to call in the veterinary, who would divide his
fee with the liveryman. So, you see, we must keep our horse in our own
stable.”
“But, my dear,” I protested, “we have no stable.”
“Then we must build one,” said Isobel with decision. “Mrs. Rolfs, as
soon as she heard we were going to keep a horse, lent me a magazine with
a picture of a very nice stable, and Mrs. Millington lent me another
magazine with some excellent hints on how a modern stable should be
arranged, and I think, with all the modern methods of doing things
rapidly, we might have our stable all complete in a week, or ten days at
the most.”
[Illustration: 61]
When I looked at Mrs. Rolfs's picture of a stable I felt immediately
that it would not suit my purse. I admitted to Isobel that it was a
handsome stable, and that the cupola with the weather vane looked very
well indeed, and that the idea of having two wings extended from the
main building to form a sort of court was a good one; but I told her
it would inconvenience the traffic on the street before our house if we
moved our house far enough into the street to permit putting a stable of
that size in our back-yard. I also told her, as gently as I could, that
the style of architecture did not suit our house, for while our house
is a plain house, the stable recommended by Mrs. Rolfs was pressed brick
and stained shingles, with a slate roof. I also pointed out to Isobel
that one horse hardly needed a stable of that size, and that even a very
large horse would feel lonely in the main building.
I remarked jocosely that it would be well enough, if we could keep two
or three grooms with nothing to do but hunt through the stable, trying
to find the horse. If we could afford to do that, it would be a pleasure
to awaken in the morning and have one of the grooms come running to us
with the light of joy on his face, saying, “What do you think, sir?
“But I told her it would inconvenience the traffic on the street before
our house if we moved our house far enough into the street to permit
putting a stable of that size in our backyard.”
Isobel smiled in a wan, sad way at this, so I did not say, as I had
intended saying if she had received my joke well, that the only horse
requiring wings was Pegasus, and that he furnished his own.
Instead, I took up Mrs. Millington's article on the modern stable.
It was a masterly article, indeed, and it spoke highly of the gravity
stable. No hay forks, no pitching up forage, no elevating feed, no
loading of manure from a heap into a wagon. No, indeed! Everything must
go down; the natural law of gravitation must do the work. Three stories,
with the rear of the stable against the side of the hill. Drive your
feed into the top story and unload it. Slide it down into the second
story to the horse. Through a trap in the stall the manure falls into a
wagon waiting to receive it.
There were other details--electric lights, silver-mounted chains,
and other little things--but I did not pay much attention to them. I
explained to Isobel that it would be difficult to build a firm,
solid hill, large enough to back a three-story stable against, in our
backyard. Of course, there were plenty of hills in our part of Long
Island that were lying idle and might be had at low cost, but it costs
a great deal to move a hill, and all of them were so large they would
overlap our property and bury the homes of Mr. Rolfs and Mr. Millington.
This did not greatly impress Isobel, however, and I had to come out
firmly and tell her it would be impossible to build a stable three
stories high, with two wings, pressed brick, shingle walls, slate roof,
and a weather vane, and at the same time erect a nice hill and buy a
horse and rig, all with one thousand dollars, which was all the money I
could afford to spend.
When I put it that way, and gave her her choice of one thousand dollars'
worth of hill, or one thousand dollars' worth of stable, or one thousand
dollars' worth of assorted horse, stable, and rig, she chose the last,
and only remarked that she would insist on the weather vane and the
manure pit. She said that Mrs. Rolfs had taken such an interest,
bringing over the magazine, that it was only right to have the weather
vane, at least; and that Mrs. Millington had been so interested and kind
that the very least we could do was to have the manure pit.
“And another thing,” said Isobel, “Mr. Prawley is going to move out of
the flat overhead.”
“Great Cæsar!” I exclaimed. “Is that man quitting again? Isn't he
getting enough wages?”
“Wages?” said Isobel. “Nothing has been said about wages. But this
Mr. Prawley will not stay if we buy a horse. He says he does not mind
gardening your garden and mowing your lawn and taking all your other
outdoor exercise for you, but that a horse once reached over the side of
the stall and bit him, and he doesn't want to work--to live in a place
where horses are liable to bite him at any time without a minute's
notice.”
“Tell that fellow,” I said, “that we will get a horse that doesn't bite,
or that we will muzzle the horse, or--”
“It would be easier,” said Isobel, “to--to have a Prawley move in who
was not afraid of horses. I know of a man in East Westcote, and he has
had experience with horses--”
“Very well,” I said. “I suppose you will wish your allowance increased?”
“Yes,” said Isobel, “if the new Mr. Prawley moves into the flat
overhead, I will need about five dollars a month more than you have been
allowing me.”