He dug his spurs in, and the horse cantered up, and refused again. This time Edward grew angry. Arthur Branderton came flying by, and having many old scores to pay, laughed loudly.
“Why don’t you get down and walk over?” he shouted, as he passed Edward and took the jump.
“I’ll either get over or break my neck,” said Edward, setting his teeth.
But he did neither. He set the roan at the jump for the fourth time, hitting him with his crop; the beast rose, and then letting the fore-leg swing, came down with a crash.
Edward fell heavily, and for a minute was stunned. When he recovered consciousness, he found some one pouring brandy down his neck.
“Is the horse hurt?” he asked, not thinking of himself.
“No; he’s all right. How d’you feel?”
A young surgeon was in the field, and rode up. “What’s the matter? Any one injured?”
“No,” said Edward, struggling to his feet, somewhat annoyed at the exhibition he thought he was making of himself. “One would think none of you fellows had ever seen a man come down before. I’ve seen most of you come off often enough.”
He walked up to the horse, and put his foot in the stirrup.