Joe watched with glazed hopeless eyes. The horses were almost like his
own body to him. He felt he was done for now. Luckily he was engaged to a
woman as old as himself, and therefore her father, who was steward of a
neighbouring estate, would provide him with a job. He would marry and go
into harness. His life was over, he would be a subject animal now.
He turned uneasily aside, the retreating steps of the horses echoing in
his ears. Then, with foolish restlessness, he reached for the scraps of
bacon-rind from the plates, and making a faint whistling sound, flung
them to the terrier that lay against the fender. He watched the dog
swallow them, and waited till the creature looked into his eyes. Then a
faint grin came on his face, and in a high, foolish voice he said:
'You won't get much more bacon, shall you, you little b----?'
The dog faintly and dismally wagged its tail, then lowered his haunches,
circled round, and lay down again.
There was another helpless silence at the table. Joe sprawled uneasily in
his seat, not willing to go till the family conclave was dissolved. Fred
Henry, the second brother, was erect, clean-limbed, alert. He had watched
the passing of the horses with more _sang-froid_. If he was an animal,
like Joe, he was an animal which controls, not one which is controlled.
He was master of any horse, and he carried himself with a well-tempered
air of mastery.
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