Thus skilfully he lied. Kagé eyed him with approval; Shu[u]zen with some doubt. He turned to the horse--"Kagé, it is said you speak. Shu[u]zen is the master. Answer without lying." Kagé spoke, indifferent to rank and without circumlocution of polite society--"'Tis so; and just as does a human being. Truly Shu[u]zen Sama has supplied a most foul smelling place to learn the art." Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] snickered--"Kagé Dono is too precise. Would he learn the art of converse over his master's wine?"--"Not unwillingly," replied the nag. "But in any case he would have Isuké and this lazy groom make better and more frequent use of broom and bucket. The good offices of Abé Dono are requested." By this retort courteous the two noblemen were silenced and amused. Uncertain as to the course of further converse with the beast Okumura made salutation, mounted and departed homewards. As he gave the horse into the groom's charge he said--"It is for Kakunai to keep in mind the words of Kagé." As he vigorously applied broom and water to the stall and vicinity of the favoured animal, Kakunai mentally determined that on the whole Shu[u]zen Dono was the more dangerous of the two. Hence-forward he would be careful to remember all that Kagé said--and make report.
The first efforts of Shu[u]zen at solving this mystery were not overly successful. A _samurai_, he betook himself to the highest exponent of the caste cult. In search of illumination he hit upon Hayashi Daigaku no Kami Dono. This man, learned in all the lore of Morokoshi (China), head of the certified institute of letters--the University--could but confess his ignorance--vicariously. Rats nesting in the tails of horses formed part of the experience of books, but not of that of men. Of talking horses there was no authenticated case. The whole matter remained without proof. He had never heard of such. Shu[u]zen squatted in a drowsy stupefaction as an incomprehensible learning was poured into his ear. He choked with the dust raised from the ancient volumes, tenderly and reverently pawed over by the learned doctor, who seemed dust-proof. Finally through the mist he heard the asseveration that it must be the work of fox or badger. It was matter for the diviner, not the divinity of the learned. With this Hayashi Dono gave the pile of dusty script before him a mighty thump, and disappeared behind the cloud he had raised.