Australian Tales - Setis

satisfaction. As they usually had a penchant for riding, I could not but try
to gratify them, though frequently to my own inconvenience and
vexation. I had a strong objection to lend the horse I usually rode
myself — for having drilled him into paces which best suited my comfort
in travelling, I had a dread lest casual riders should drill him out of those
paces again. Whenever I could hire a nag for a visitor, I did so; but as
that could not always be done, I sometimes found myself compelled by
courtesy to lend my own hack.
About two years after the foregoing incident Mr. Bradbury Spriggs
paid me another visit for a day or two: and one of his early enquiries was
for “the splendid animal which had carried him twenty-five miles in two
hours.”
“Ah! I've sold poor Jack,” I replied, with a slight sigh: “he is now
drawing a hawker's cart; an ignoble occupation for such a handsome
beast as he once was. I lent him one day to a friend, who unfortunately
threw him down and broke his knees. But I have another Jack, in the
paddock, a finer horse than the last one, at least he suits me better, if he
is not such a general favourite with my friends.”
“Ah! I should like to see him,” replied Mr. Spriggs, while his face
brightened up, like a boy's who is just going to have the first spin at his
new humming-top. “Could you let me have a trot on him for an hour or
so; I haven't had a ride since the last time I was here.”
“Hum! I'll see,” I slowly replied, as I tried to see if I could find some
honourable excuse for declining to let him have a trot, having an
annoying recollection of his two hours' gallop on the former occasion.
“Yes — you can have him for an hour, Mr. Spriggs,” I at length
replied, “but I hope you will not ride very fast, for I have to take a long
journey to-morrow, and I want Jack to be pretty fresh.”
“Oh, certainly not, I'll not ride him hard; I'll take care of him, you may
depend on it,” replied my excited friend; and away he went to his
dressing-room, to prepare himself for the jaunt, while I gave orders for
the horse to be saddled and brought to the door.
In a few minutes out came my city friend, armed with a hammerheaded
whip, and glittering spurs at his heels, and looking as bold as a
bushranger. He was preparing to mount when I quietly asked, “Will you
ride with spurs, Mr. Spriggs?”
“Ye-e-s,” he replied, with some hesitation, and an earnest glance into
my face. “Why, sir, will your horse not bear them?”
“He does not like them,” I replied, which was true enough; indeed, it
would be hard to persuade me there is a horse on earth that does like
them.
“Oh, well, perhaps I had better take them off. I am glad you told me!”
and forthwith he began to unbuckle his spur leathers.
“Who-o-o-o, Jack,” I shouted, as I suddenly snatched at my horse's