"Twice I revisited the stable, and the second time found but three
horses left. I walked along behind them, murmuring, 'Trumpeter,
Trumpeter!' in the forlorn hope that one of the three brutes would
give a sign.
"'I beg your pardon, sir,' said the ostler; 'were you saying
anything?'
"'No--nothing,' said I, and luckily he was called away at this moment
to the further end of the stable. 'Oh,' sighed I, 'for Xanthus, horse
of Achilles!'
"I felt inclined to follow and confide my difficulty to the ostler,
but reflected that this wouldn't help me in the least: whereas, if
I applied to a fellow-guest, he must (if indeed he could give the
information) expose my previous hypocrisy to the ostler. After all,
the company was dwindling fast. I went back and consumed more sherry
and biscuits.
"By this six o'clock had gone, and no more than a dozen guests
remained. One of these was my bovine friend, my neighbour at the
funeral banquet, who now accosted me as I struggled with a biscuit.
"'So you've got over your hurry. Glad to find ye settlin' down so
quick to our hearty ways.
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