"But the landlord says there are dozens of mules at Martigny."

"A mere mirage."

"No, he has telephoned. But you'll look at the one here, I suppose, if
only as a matter of form? I think he's outside now."

"Let him be brought before me," I said, with the air of a tyrant in a
melodrama; and, by the way, I have always thought it would be very
pleasant being a tyrant by profession, like Him of Syracuse, for
instance. You could do all the things you wanted to do, without
consulting the convenience of anybody else, or having it on your
conscience that you hadn't.

At this moment Jack appeared. It seemed that he had been putting the
mule (the one available mule) through his paces, and the wretched
fellow was laughing. "It's not funny, at all," said I, thinking it was
the situation which amused him. But Jack explained that it wasn't
that. "It's the brute's tail," said he. "When you see it, you'll know
what I mean."

I did know, at sight. The organ--if a mule's tail can be called an
organ--had mean proportions and a hideous activity which expressed to
my mind a base and depraved nature. Had there been no other of his
kind on earth, I would still have refused to take this beast as my
companion; and after a few moments' feverish discussion, it was
arranged that after all we must go through the Rhone Valley to-morrow
to Martigny.