SIXTY YEARS ON THE TURF 



than I had of flying over the moon. I took fair stock 

 of the horse, and rather fancied him, as he possessed 

 good quarters and was well ribbed up, his chief 

 defect being his forelegs, which stood over a bit. 



" He don't look quite like a thoroughbred," I 

 remarked. 



" That's just what he is," was the retort. '* Per- 

 haps you don't know much about horses." 



" You're quite right. I don't. If he is thorough- 

 bred, what's he by ? " 



" By Vindex, Sir Charles Monk's horse." 



" Ah, well ! Just let that boy trot him about." 



The boy took hold of the halter-string, and can- 

 tered him up the yard. I had another look at him, 

 and was satisfied. 



" What's his figure ? " 



" Eighty pounds." 



" I suppose he's yours," I remarked. 



" Whose the h 11 do you think he is ? " was the 



rough retort. 



"All right. Keep your temper. I'll give you eighty 

 pounds. He's mine." 



I pulled the eighty pounds from my pocket, and 

 handed them over. The countryman was extremely 

 satisfied with the deal, and pressed on me, for luck, 

 a half-crown, smacking it into my hand with a 

 force that left the impression. 



188 



