“Ah, well,” said Mr Elthorne sharply, “you will think differently, I dare say, after the first smart of the disappointment has worn off.”
“Ready, father?” came from the window.
“Yes. Have they got the horse round?”
“All right. Burwood is going to try him over a fence or two before we start.”
“I’ll come,” said Mr Elthorne. “You like horses, Beck; come and see the leaping.”
Beck followed mechanically, cut to the heart by the half-contemptuous, cold-blooded way in which his aspirations were treated, and in a few minutes he stood with the others looking at the noble looking animal held by a groom, while Sir Cheltnam examined him after the fashion of a dealer, and then mounted.
“I’ll trot him across the park and take the hedge, and the fence as I come back. Thick in his breathing, you think?”
“Yes, I thought so,” said Mr Elthorne.
“Well, we shall soon know, and if he is, I’d make them take him back.”
Sir Cheltnam mounted and went off at a sharp trot for some hundred yards, curved round full into sight, and, increasing his pace, came toward them at a good swinging gallop, rose at a hedge, cleared it well, and then pressed the horse on toward a stiffish fence, which it also cleared capitally, and cantered back to the waiting party, where Sir Cheltnam pulled up and leaped down.