_Tartar_!

_His Daughter_. But you would have to lay down such a lot of sawdust
first. And it might teach him to kneel down whenever you said "Woa!"
you know, and _that_ wouldn't do!

_Paterf._ Um! No. Never thought of that.

_Prof._ I will now introduce To his notice the Bass Drum. (_The two
Grooms dance about the horse, banging a drum and clashing cymbals, at
which he shies consumedly. Gradually he appears to realise that his
lines have fallen among lunatics, and that his wisest policy is to
humour them. He does so, even to the extent of suffering the big drum
to be beaten on his head with patient disgust._)

_The Daughter_. You might try _that_ with _Tartar_, Father. You could
have the dinner-gong, you know.

_Paterf._ (_dubiously_). H'm, I'm not at all sure that it would have
the same effect, my dear.

_Prof._ (_who has vaulted on the horse's back_). I will now make him
familiar With an umbrella. (_Opens it suddenly; horse plunges_.) Now,
Sir, this is nothing but an umbrella--vurry good one too--it isn't
going to hurt you; look at it!

[_He waves it round the animal's head, and finally claps it
over his eyes, the horse inspects it, and tacitly admits that
he may have been prejudiced._