through the morning's electric chill. Pride was not prouder than the arch of her chest.
"What a beauty, what a poem!" Frost's enthusiasm seemed an inspiration to the Major.
"She is marvellously well favored, sir; comes from the 'Beautiful Bells' family, that is, without a doubt, one of the richest and most remarkable known. If you want a good racer she is your chance. Racing blood speaks in the sharp, thin crest, the quick, intelligent ear, the fine flatbone and clean line of limb."
Frost looked in her mouth, put on a grave face, as though he understood "horseology."
The Major gave her age, record, pedigree and price so fast that the other found it difficult to keep looking wise and listen at the same time.
The trainer then brought out another, a brown horse with tan muzzle and flanks.
"Here, sir, is 'Baron Wilkes'; thus far he has proven an extremely worthy son of a great sire, the peerless 'George Wilkes.' He was bred in unsurpassed lines, is 15-1/2 hands high, and at two years old took a record of 2:34-1/4."
"Ah! he is a handsome individual; look what admirable legs and feet," exclaimed the guest.
"And a race horse all over. But here comes my ideal," he added, with pride, as across the sward
