If they knew that this nag couldn't win the big race,
Or was not meant to run, then their course would be clear.

[_Espies_ Stranger _approaching._

Hillo! Not too near, ARTHUR! (_Aside._) Whom have we _here_?

_Polite Stranger_ (_insinuatingly_). Beg pardon, my Lord!
A bit out of my track.
Missed my way. But--ahem!--is that really the "crack"?
Why, he _looks_ cherry ripe--at a distance. I've heard
All sorts of reports--gossips _are_ so absurd!
But--_would_ you mind telling me--_has_ the Great Horse
Been really--got at? _Entre nous_, mind!--

_Noble Owner_ (_drily_). Of course!
_Dissolution's_ shy backers would much like to know.
But--_tell them who sent you to ask--it's no go!_

[_Exit, leaving_ Polite Stranger _planté là._

* * * * *

A LAY SERMON.

(SUGGESTED BY CERTAIN RECENT MANIFESTATIONS OF THE NONCONFORMIST
CONSCIENCE.)

Thou shalt not steal! That's a command
Which grips us with an iron hand;