Fritz put the red cart under a shed, and helped Lena milk, while we walked enamored after our purchase from one part of the lawn to another.
“What makes his hams look so sad, Julian?” I inquired with concern.
“Flanks, you mean,” said Julian.
“Yes. But aren’t horses usually cushiony there?”
“Pigs and prize cattle are,” said Julian contemptuously.
“But his hind legs run up so tall that when he lifts one he seems to be coming in two, like Baron Munchausen’s horse when it got caught in the city gates.”
“Sorry you don’t like him,” observed Julian, scratching a match on his heel and lighting a cigar.
“I do like him, Julian. It would be strange if I didn’t like our own horse! The way he is standing now doesn’t show his ribs so. Couldn’t we induce him to keep that position generally?”
But Leander now drew all his feet nearer to a focus, and frightened me by a convulsion.
“He’s just going to lie down,” explained Julian. “He wants to roll in the grass. They say a horse that rolls clear over is worth fifty dollars, anyhow. Watch him, now.”