Hammersley's Pluck 



bred from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. 

 A little old bow-legged groom held the bridle with 

 both hands, while he rattled the bit to keep him 

 quiet and talked to him in a low voice. I knew 

 at a glance the horse would suit and I was deter- 

 mined to have him if he could jump and the price 

 was at all reasonable, so I asked them to put some- 

 one up and show me what he could do. A five- 

 foot hedge, with a ditch before it, stood a hundred 

 yards away, and the dealer, calling to one of his 

 boys, told him to take the horse over it. 



In the meantime I observed the old groom 

 gazing at me curiously; suddenly a gleam of 

 recognition crossed his face and he touched his 

 hat deferentially. "Mr. Cyril, sir.f^" It was 

 Hammersley's old stud groom and trainer, his 

 hair whitened by the years and somewhat gone 

 down in the world since his master's death, but the 

 same "Judson" whom I had known when Ham- 

 mersley was alive, and I wrung his hand like 

 that of an old friend. 



The next instant Judson was plucking my arm 

 and pointing at the Midget excitedly; "There 'e 

 goes, Mr. Cyril, 'e will fly it like a bird; 'e cawn't 

 be matched in the kingdom. There, sir, what 

 d' I say, like a bird, no stopping and losing 'is 

 stride, just keeps on going clean and strong. Ah, 

 sir, 'e takes me back a bit," and the old man's 

 49 



