"Good reason why," said Shine. "I wouldn't work a horse either if he bled every time he got out of a walk! There he goes!"
Jeremiah went to the half pole like the wind, slacked somewhat on the upper turn, and floundered heavily into the stretch.
"Bleeding, ain't he?" asked Shine.
"He acts like it—yes, you can see it now."
As Jeremiah neared the paddock he stopped to a choppy gallop, and the railbirds saw that blood was streaming from both nostrils and trickling from his mouth.
"Ain't that sickening? You wouldn't think that Old Man Curry would abuse a horse like that!"
The Bald-faced Kid went valiantly to the defence of his aged friend. He would criticise Old Man Curry if he saw fit, but no one else had that privilege.
"Aw, where do you get that abusing-a-horse stuff! It don't really hurt a horse any more'n it would hurt you to have a good nosebleed. It just chokes him up so't he can't get his breath, and he quits, that's all."
"Yes, but it looks bad, and it's a shame to start a horse in that condition."
The argument waxed long and loud, and in the end the Kid was vanquished, borne down by superior numbers. The popular verdict was that Old Man Curry ought to be ashamed of himself for owning and starting a confirmed bleeder like Jeremiah.