Cleopatra 



siastic but painful way he has, and already I began 

 to feel like a different man. 



"Here, John," said he, **give me your bag and 

 I'll chuck it under the seat," and he tossed it 

 easily into the back of the big wheeled yellow 

 break-cart. Then he sprang up into the cart and 

 held up the robe for me, until I had it tucked in 

 well around me. He picked up the reins and laid 

 the lash playfully across our steed's quarters. 

 Afterwards, when the din had ceased and I could 

 hear what he was saying, Rawdon told me the 

 horse's name was Cricket, as though that explained 

 why he should try to kick the dashboard out of the 

 cart six times in quick succession the moment he 

 felt the whip. Cricket, Rawdon said, was feeling 

 good. What Cricket needed, I thought, was an 

 A No. 1 attack of my indigestion and he would 

 make a well-broken, respectable horse that one 

 needn't be ashamed of. But I let it pass. There 

 was no use being fussy, and, after all, Rawdon 

 might really like Cricket; there is no accounting 

 for tastes. Rawdon must have seen the express- 

 ion of my face, or noticed the way I held on to the 

 side of the cart, for he roared with laughter in his 

 big, hearty way. 



"That's nothing," he said at last, "wait until 

 you see Cleopatra to-morrow, when first she hears 

 the hounds or the horn. She makes Cricket look 

 31 



