Hoof Beats 



meet, and each time as they passed, the man 

 halloed, and the colt flung up his head and snorted 

 in a particularly arrogant manner. 



The last time, FuUerton was just saddling his 

 old hunter Playmate, outside the stable door, 

 when he heard Carroll call. He waved his arm 

 in return, and dropped the girth he held in his 

 hand, while he watched the Yorkshire Lad in- 

 crease his speed, and go galloping down the road, 

 for Carroll had touched him gently with his near 

 spur in order to show off his stride. 



Fullerton watched them out of sight, then 

 slowly shook his head, and glanced at the Marquis 

 who stood in the corner of the paddock fence, 

 painfully trying to appear unconcerned, as he 

 nipped at the Playmate's hocks. Fullerton would 

 have given a good deal then to have owned 

 a colt that could have made Carroll on his York- 

 shire Lad sit tight and follow him straight-away 

 as the crow flies, but there was little hope of that, 

 for the Marquis, he had come to agree with the 

 rest, was a failure, — he had been damned from the 

 start. He shrugged his shoulders as the man and 

 horse disappeared from sight, and with his head 

 beneath the upraised flap of the Playmate's 

 saddle, he reached for the trailing end of the girth, 

 and buckled and fastened it there, while the 

 Playmate groaned and swelled himself out to 

 122 



