'But that horse there--you don't mind, do you ?--that horse is wrong!' 'I know he is! I've worked at him till I'm sick.

Can't work at him any more!' 'It should be like this.' He took out a sketch-book from his pocket, caught up a piece of charcoal and rapidly sketched the horse in the attitude required.

Then he handed the book to Watson, who looked first at the sketch, and then at some of the neighbouring pages, which were covered with studies of horses observed mostly on the day of some trade-union procession, when mounted police were keeping the road.
Watson was silent a moment, then, walking up to his picture, he took his palette-knife and scraped out the whole passage.

'I see!' he said, and, laying down the knife, he threw himself into a chair, flushed and discomposed.
'Oh, you'll soon put it right!' said Fenwick, encouragingly.
Watson winced--then nodded.
'May I see that book ?' He held out his hand, and Fenwick yielded it.
Watson and Cuningham turned it over together.

The 'notes,' of which it was full, showed great brilliancy and facility, an accurate eye, and a very practised hand.