"Not the filly that won—"
"Yes, siree bob; won a pile fur Joicey's father. Goes like hell even yet."
"Give her a rub down and a feed, and say nothing about it," said Gano, transferring something from his pocket to the man's hand. "For the sake of battles long ago," he added to his companions, seeming to apologize.
As they walked up to the hotel Mrs. Ball ran on volubly about the ill-treatment of animals.
"I like to remember some magnificent thoroughbreds I saw the last time I was in Holland," Ethan said in the first pause. "I fell in with their owner afterwards, a certain Monsieur Oscar."
"That the fellow that trains horses?" asked Wilbur.
"Yes, founder of the Continental Cirque. He'd been all over the world, and was giving his last performance while I was at Scheveningen. When I came across him afterwards, he had sold all the animals and properties of his great show. 'All,' he said, 'except my eight favorite horses.' I asked if he was going to keep them. 'No,' he said; 'I shot them after my last performance. I might have sold them well, but I thought perhaps they might come down in the world, and end by going between shafts. No, I cared about 'em, so I shot 'em.'"
"Oh, how could he have the heart!" Mrs. Ball was shocked.
"You should have seen the fellow's face! He had cared. I couldn't help thinking what a lot of room there was in the world for that kind of caring."
"Gracious no, it's too brutal! He should have given them to people who would appreciate them."