After opening several letters from people who wanted to sell him horses, hounds’ food, and saddlery, he found one from a “horsy” cousin who lived in Hampshire near the New Forest. While he was reading it, Mrs. Holbrooke came down to breakfast. The first thing which caught her eye was the discarded Times. “Really, George,” she said, “is it necessary that you should throw the paper on the floor? I haven’t read it yet.” “Sorry, dear,” said Major Holbrooke meekly, as he picked up The Times and threw it on the nearest chair. “But I have a very interesting letter from Cousin Harry. You know those pony foals he bought several years ago, when they were so cheap they were being killed and sold as veal?” “Yes, I remember,” said Mrs. Holbrooke. “I always thought it was the only good thing that that dreadful bore Harry ever did.” “I should hardly say that,” said the Major. “But I will admit that he’s the most insufferable old bore that ever lived, especially when he tells you about the good old days in Poona!
