There's a grocer who is notorious for his wretched horse flesh.
The grocer's boy is rather a reckless driver. He drove one of his master's worst nags a little too hard one day, and the animal fell ill and died.
"You've killed my horse, curse you!" the grocer said to the boy the next morning.
"I'm sorry, boss," the lad faltered.
"Sorry be durned!" shouted the grocer. "Who's going to pay me for my horse?"
"I'll make it all right, boss," said the boy soothingly. "You can take it out of my next Saturday's wages."