"Piebald horses are lucky, too," he observed, knocking the ashes
from his pipe against the window sash. "I had one of them once."
"What did it do to you?" I enquired.
"Lost me the best crib I ever had in my life," was the simple
rejoinder. "The governor stood it a good deal longer than I had
any right to expect; but you can't keep a man who is ALWAYS drunk.
It gives a firm a bad name."
"It would," I agreed.
"You see," he went on, "I never had the head for it. To some men
it would not have so much mattered, but the very first glass was
enough to upset me. I'd never been used to it."
"But why did you take it?" I persisted. "The horse didn't make you
drink, did he?"
"Well, it was this way," he explained, continuing to rub gently the
lump which was now about the size of an egg. "The animal had
belonged to a gentleman who travelled in the wine and spirit line,
and who had been accustomed to visit in the way of business almost
every public-house he came to. The result was you couldn't get
that little horse past a public-house --at least I couldn't. He
sighted them a quarter of a mile off, and made straight for the
door.
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