He was a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another carriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself
that he was no longer fit for a gentleman's stables, and the coachman had orders to look round, and sell him as well as he could.
"I can do with high spirits," said Jerry, "if a horse is not vicious or hard-mouthed."
"There is not a bit of vice in him," said the man; "his mouth is very tender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident; you see he had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had exercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a balloon. Our governor (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as tight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a very sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief that it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of spirit."
"Likely enough; I'll come and see him," said Jerry.
The next day Hotspur, that was his name, came home; he was a fine brown horse, without a white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very handsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting by way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first night he was very restless.
Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his halter rope up and down through the ring, and knocking the block about against the manger till I could not sleep.
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