There was the horse doing his best, his most beautiful best, as though he knew so much depended on him, stretching himself with the last ounce of energy he could summon, feeling the psalm of success in his heart--yes, he knows, he knows what he has done, none so well!--and out comes a black, hateful thing against him, and down he goes, his game over, his course run.

I felt exactly as you do, and I felt that before everything else when it happened.

Then I felt for myself afterwards, and I felt it hard, as you can think." The break went from his voice, but it rang with reflective, remembered misery.

"I was ruined.

One thing was clear to me.