New York burst into applause. It was a trained horse, of
course, but a horse capable of such training was worth applause.
At that roar of sound, vague as the beat of waves along the shore, the
stallion lurched down on all fours and leaped ahead, but the two on the
halter ropes drove all their weight backward and checked the first
plunge. A bright-coloured scarf waved from a nearby box, and the
monster swerved away. So, twisting, plunging, rearing, he was worked
down the arena. As he came opposite a box in which sat a tall young man
in evening clothes the latter rose and shouted: "Bravo!"
The fury of the stallion, searching on all sides for a vent but
distracted from one torment to another, centred suddenly on this slender
figure. He swerved and rushed for the barrier with ears flat back and
bloodshot eyes. There he reared and struck at the wood with his great
front hoofs; the boards splintered and shivered under the blows.
As for the youth in the box, he remained quietly erect before this brute
rage. A fleck of red foam fell on the white front of his shirt.
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