John Randolph looked indignantly at the handsome horse, as he stood with drooping head and wide distended nostrils, while the white foam dripped over his delicate legs.

“Serve you right if there were!” and his voice was full of scorn.  “You’re about as fit to handle horseflesh as an Esquimaux.”

“Oh, pish!  You’re a regular old grandmother, John.  There’s nothing to make such a row about.”  And Reginald Hawthorne turned upon his heel.

John threw off coat and vest, and, rolling up his sleeves, led the exhausted horse to the currying ground.  Reginald followed slowly, his hands in his pockets.

“How did you get him into such a mess?” he asked shortly.

“I don’t know, I didn’t do anything to him,” and Reginald kicked the gravel discontentedly.  “I believe he’s getting lazy.”

“Sultan lazy!” and John laughed incredulously.  “That’s a good joke!  Why, he is the freest horse on the place!”

“Well, I don’t know how else to explain it.  He’s been on the go pretty steadily, but what’s a horse good for?  Thursday afternoon we had our cross-country run and the ground was horribly stiff.  I thought he had sprained his off foreleg for he limped a good deal on the home stretch, but he seemed to limber up all right the last few miles.  I was sorry not to let him rest yesterday; would have put him in better trim I suppose for to-day’s twenty mile pull,—­but Cartwright and Peterson wanted to make up a tandem, and when they asked for Sultan I didn’t like to refuse.  They are heavy swells, and you know father wants me to get in with that lot.  But that shouldn’t have hurt him.  They only went as far as Brighton.  What’s fifteen miles to a horse!”

“Fifteen miles means thirty to a horse when he has to travel back the same road,” said John drily; “and your heavy swells take the toll out of horseflesh quicker than a London cabby.”

“Why, John, what has come to you?  You’re the last fellow in the world to want me to be churlish.”

“That’s true, Rege,—­but I don’t want them to cripple you as they have poor Sultan.  What kind of fellows are they?”

“Oh, not a bad sort,” said Reginald carelessly.  “Lots of the needful, you know, and free with it.  Not very fond of the grind, but always up to date when there are any good times going.  What do you suppose put Sultan in such a lather, John?  I was so afraid father would catch me that I came across the fields, and it was just as much as he could do to take the last fence.  I made sure he was going to tumble.”

“Well for you he didn’t,” and John smoothed the delicate limbs with his firm hand, “these knees are too pretty for a scar.  Go into the vet room, Rege, and bring me out a roll of bandage.”

“Hulloa!  That will give me away to the governor with a vengeance!  What are you going to bandage him for?”

“He is badly strained, and if I don’t his legs will be all puffed by the morning.  It will be lucky if it is nothing worse.  He looks to me as if he was in for a touch of distemper, but I’ll give him a powder and perhaps we can stave it off.”