“Women always notice the ornamental part of a turnout first,” said Julian. “Before you looked at the cart you ought to have taken in Leander.”
“Is his name Leander?” I inquired.
“So I have been informed,” replied Julian.
“What makes him look as if he were crying?”
“His eyes need sponging,” said Julian. “This warm weather is severe on a horse’s eyes.”
“I hope he has not parted with any near and dear friend.” “He looks as if he could hardly stand up under some affliction.”
“Horses are dear now,” observed Julian with severity, “and you can’t expect to get a thoroughbred for forty dollars. The liveryman said he shipped a car-load to Louisville last week, some of them so weak they had to lean against the sides of the car. This one is sound, and only needs a little good care to bring him out.”
“Yes, his bones all look nice,” I assented. My heart began to warm toward Leander.
“It’s a fine thing to own a noble animal like a horse, isn’t it, Julian?—and to see him grazing around one’s homestead.”
Julian said he believed he would take Leander into the yard and let him clip off some of the grass, before stabling him.