The Thousand and One Bottles
they were in the little beer-shop of Iping Hanger.
"Well? " said Teddy Henfrey.
"This chap you 're speaking of, what my dog bit. Well—he 's black. Leastways, his legs are. I seed through the tear of his trousers and the tear of his glove. You 'd have expected a sort of pinky to show, wouldn't you? Well—there was n't none. Just blackness. I tell you, he 's as black as my hat."
"My sakes!" said Henfrey. "It 's a rummy case altogether. Why, his nose is as pink as paint!"
"That 's true," said Fearenside. "I knows that. And I tell ee what I 'm thinking. That marn 's a piebald, Teddy. Black here and white there—in patches. And he 's ashamed of it. He 's a kind of half-breed, and the colour 's come off patchy instead of mixing. I've heard of such things before. And it 's the common way with horses, as any one can see."
