Accepting the suggestion without comment, Densmore cantered away and brought the roan down at speed. To the rider, his mount seemed to make the sudden turn perfectly. But Banneker stepped out and examined the off forefoot with a dubious face.
“Breaks a little there,” he stated seriously.
The horseman tried the turn again, throwing his weight over. This time he did feel a slightly perceptible “give.” “What’s the remedy?” he asked.
“Build up the outer flange of the shoe. That may do it. But I shouldn’t trust him without a thorough test. A good pony’ll always overplay his safety a little in a close match.”
The implication of this expert view aroused Densmore’s curiosity. “You’ve played,” he said.
“No: I’ve never played. I’ve knocked the ball about a little.”
“Where?”
“Out in Santa Barbara. With the stable-boys.”
So simply was it said that Densmore returned, quite as simply: “Were you a stable-boy?”
“No such luck, then. Just a kid, out of a job.”