"Don't get excited," he whispered back over the phone. "Parsifal
is a new idea in horses. Whenever he meets an automobile he goes
to sleep and tries to forget it. Isn't that better than running
away and dragging you to a hospital? There must be something about
an automobile that affects Parsifal's heart. I think it is the
gasolene. The odor from the gasolene seems to penetrate his mind
to the region of his memory and he forgets to move. Parsifal is a
fine horse, with a most lovable disposition, but when the air
becomes charged with gasolene he forgets his duty and falls asleep
at the switch."

I went out and explained to my wife that Parsifal was a victim of
the gasolene habit, and that he would never leave that spot until
the Bubble went away, and that the Bubble couldn't go away until
the _chauffeur_ could wake up, and that the chauffeur couldn't wake
up until his mind had digested a lot of wood alcohol, so she jumped
out of the buggy and we walked home.

Parsifal may be a new idea in horses, but the next time I go buggy
riding it will be in a street car.

When we reached home that afternoon I found a note from Bunch which
cheered me up wonderfully.

The note read as follows:


CITY, Sunday Morning.