h loose shoulder straps, dragging her through a dance. He had even
sung a bit of a song, madly, wildly, horribly. And suddenly he had been
brought up sharp by the fact that no one thought his behavior strange,
that no one thought him presumptuous. Freda's mother had not even moved
or dropped the kitten from her lap where it sat, its loud resolute purr
shaking the satin of her gown.

And he felt that Freda had got him where she wanted him, between two
rungs. Going directly up to her he said:

"You are ridiculous!" and twirled his moustache, spitting into the
garden.

And he knew nothing about what happened until he found himself in the
shrubbery crawling toward the corral, through the dusk and the dampness
of the leaves, carrying his cane, making sure of his hat, looking up at
the stars.

And now he knew why he had come. He was with his horses again. His
eyes, pressed against the bars, stared in. The black stallion in the
lead had been his special pet, a rough animal, but kindly, knowing. And
here they were once more, tearing up the grass, galloping about in the
night like a ball-room full of real people, people who wanted to do
things, who did what they wanted to do.

He began to crawl through the bars, slowly, deftly, and when half way
through he paused, thinking.

Presently he went on again, and drawing himself into the corral, his hat
and cane thrown in before him, he lay there mouth to the grass.

They were still running, but less madly, one of them had gone up the
Willow Road leading into a farther pasture, in a flare of dust, through
which it looked immense and faint.

On the top of the hill three or four of the horses were standing,
testing the weather. He would mount one, he would ride away, he would
escape. And his horses, the things he knew, would be his escape.

Bareback, he thought, would be like the days when he had taken what he
could from the rush of the streets, joy, exhilaration, life, and he was
not afraid. He wanted to stand up, to cry aloud.

And he saw ten or twelve of them rounding the curve, and he did stand
up.

They did not seem to know him, did not seem to know what to make of him,
and he stared at them wondering. He did not think of his white shirt
front, his sudden arising, the darkness, their excitement. Surely they
would know, in a moment more.

Wheeling, flaring their wet nostrils, throwing up their manes, striking
the earth in a quandary, they came on, whinnied faintly, and