The Leather Plater, 307 



thing on this country side. But I'll tell you what," observed the 

 young man, shifting himself uneasily in his chair, *' I've had the 

 schooling of that colt, and a sweeter colt I never wish to ride — a 

 lady could ride him in a pack-thread (I directly thought of the 

 captain and his favourites). He's got lots of pace, and can fly for 

 a mile and a half with about nine stone on his back, and I don't 

 think there are many half-bred uns that can live with him at that 

 distance. He's certain to make a hurdle-racer, for that's just his 

 distance, and he can take a hurdle almost in his stride. He's as 

 quick on his legs as a cat. But somehow or other I don't think 

 that he'll ever make a steeple-chaser, for whenever I put him at a 

 big fence he rises just as if his fore-legs were tied. I've got to 

 thank him for this," observed the youth, pointing to his bandaged 

 arm. " I will, however, say one thing — it's the only fall he's ever 

 given me. But it was a rum un. However, it was perhaps more 

 my fault than his, for it was a gate he fell at, and he was nearly 

 pumped before he came to it. Still, I never fancy he'll have sub- 

 stance enough for a steeple-chaser, and if I was you, sir, I'd keep 

 him for hurdle-racing or the flat. However, I dare say you know 

 best, for I don't suppose you'd have bought him if you did not 

 know what to do with him," and the sick man leaned back in his 

 chair as if the exertion of speaking was too much for him. 



" I wonder you never sold him before, for he's a very taking 

 colt," I observed, after a pause. 



" Did you look at his near hock ?" he asked. 



"No," I replied J "I did not care much to examine the colt 

 very closely. I bought him entirely on old John Robinson's 

 recommendation, and I'm quite sure that he'd never deceive me." 



"No, that I'm sure he never would," observed the young man ; 

 "but, as I was a-saying, that hock has always 'crabbed' the coll. 

 We could have sold him for a hundred and twenty in the autumn, 

 but Mr. Hawthorn — you know him, sir, the veterinary surgeon — 

 refused to pass him, that hock looks so curby ; but take my word, 

 sir, there's nothing in it. He was foaled just so, and I've always 

 remarked that these sort of hocks stand the longest, if the colt is 



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