THE TRAIL Standing on the steps of the hotel, Brett cast a searching glance along the line of waiting hansoms.

He wanted a strong, sure-footed horse, one of those marvellous animals, found only in the streets of London, which trots like a dog, slides down Savoy Street on its hind legs, slips in and out among the traffic like an eel, and covers a steady eight miles an hour for a seemingly indefinite period.
"Shall I whistle for a cab, sir ?" said the hall-porter.
"No.

You whistle without discrimination," replied the barrister.
He found the stamp of gee-gee he needed fourth on the rank.
"How long has your horse been out of the stable ?" he asked the driver.
"I've just driven him here, sir." "Is he up to a hard day's work ?" "The best tit in London, sir." "Pull him up to the pavement." The man obeyed.

Instantly his three predecessors on the rank began a chorus: "'Ere! Wot th'-- " "All right, Jimmy.

Wait till--" "Well, I'm--" "What is the matter ?" inquired Brett, "You fellows always squeal before you are hurt.