“Brown,” I said when he appeared, “the goat must go.”
“What, Hebeneezer, sir?” he answered in dismay.
“I do not know its name,” I returned firmly, “and I was under the impression that it was a female; but if you call it Ebeneezer, then Ebeneezer must go.” He became pensive. “Dead or alive that accursed mammal must depart, never to return. It has already seriously injured the Major’s constitution.”
“It has, sir?” There was a world of surprise in his tone. “Of course, it don’t do to go playing about with it, or crossing it like, but”
“The goat has done the crossing. Twice—at full speed.”
“ ’E seems a bit quiet this morning, sir. Off his food like. And e’s lost a bit of ’is tail.” Brown scratched his head meditatively.
The fact did not surprise me—but I preserved a discreet silence. “Get rid of it this morning, and see that it never returns!” I ordered, and the incident closed—at least I thought so at the time.
