We watched him in breathless suspense, Julian holding the lighted cigar away from his lips. Leander, after several half revolutions, brandished his heels triumphantly in the air and rolled clear over.
Julian and I shook hands.
“Gained ten dollars in value since I brought him home,” said Julian.
Whatever doubts I had harbored about an artist’s knowledge of horses certainly vanished. And Leander, after standing up to shake himself, lay down to try it again. But this time he brandished ineffectual heels and contented himself with only a half turn.
“Do you suppose he has gone off any in his value, Julian?” I inquired anxiously.
“Not at all,” said Julian, throwing out clouds of smoke. “You mustn’t expect too much of a horse on a couple of mouthfuls of grass.”
We drove Leander a great deal during the July weather. The cart had very easy springs, and I liked billowing along on them, though the motion was a little jerky. Leander was a kind creature. He never kicked, though he sometimes got his legs tangled in his tackling, fighting flies; and notwithstanding his countenance continued watery, he took a widow-like interest in us. I fed him lumps of sugar and bunches of very sweet grass, which he swallowed in a resigned way. Julian, with sleeves rolled up, zealously mixed chopped feed for him, and Leander smeared this from sunken temple to sunken jaw, so that often when I entered the stable I thought he was undergoing a poulticing.
Leander objected to railway trains, so we knew he had spirit.
“There’s considerable go in him,” said Julian as we trotted between fence-rows where elderberries were spreading and ripening. “Wait till I get him fat once! You’ll be astonished to see how he comes out.”
“Do you think his eyes will quit weeping as his condition improves, Julian?” I inquired.