“That’s right, young one,” said Wyatt approvingly. “Well, you’ll see enough of them now. We’ll walk down to the other end, and go out of the other door.”
Dick followed his companion unwillingly, for the desire was on him to go and pat and handle several of the beautiful creatures.
“No, no,” said Wyatt, stopping him; “it’s rather too risky; some of them are likely to be nasty with strangers. You see, so long as a horse is a good one we don’t study much about his character.”
“Nor yet about the characters of the men,” said Dick dryly.
“That’s so. We want men—perfect men—sound in wind and limb; and as to the men’s characters, well, they’re obliged to behave well. They know that, and they do. Come and see them.”
This was the most crucial part of the business to Dick. The horses, as they turned their beautiful eyes upon him and shook their manes, seemed one and all to be gazing at him with a kind of sovereign contempt. But then they were horses—dumb animals, and did not matter; but the men—what would they think?
He felt younger, slighter, and more boyish than ever as he crossed the parade-ground towards the barracks, and involuntarily drew himself up, frowned, and strode more heavily, unconscious of the fact that his conductor was looking slyly down at him from the corner of his left eye, enjoying the boy’s effort to look more manly. Then his face turned grave, and he laid his hand upon the lad’s arm.
“Don’t do that, Dick,” he said.
“Don’t do what?” cried the boy flushing guiltily.
“Don’t be a sham. It will make a bad impression on the men.”