The true horseman, born to it and bound to it by an inbred love of the animal, admires a spirited horse. Old Maurice, the groom, in the days before he had to turn to the less-glorious branch of the game, had experienced his share of thrills with lively thoroughbreds. Maurice the groom sidled up to me, indecision in the flicker of his bright brown eyes--indecision, which held him, with one hand raised to the level of my shoulder affectionately, as though he wished to emphasize the appeal so evident in his attitude. A quaint smile touched the corner of his mouth and vanished. A stranger might have thought Maurice timorous--Maurice, who had in his day ridden many a steeplechase in Ireland.…
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