of the
ring--a huge man on a small cob--galloped around, roaring like a
bull: "This way for the fourteen stone 'acks! Come on, you twelve
'and ponies!" and by degrees various classes got judged, and dispersed
grumbling. Then the bulls filed out with their grievances still
unsettled, the lady riders were persuaded to withdraw, and the clerk of
the ring sent a sonorous bellow across the ground: "Where's the jumpin'
judges?"

From the official stand came a brisk, dark-faced, wiry little man. He
had been a steeplechase rider and a trainer in his time. Long experience
of that tricky animal, the horse, had made him reserved and slow to
express an opinion. He mounted the table, and produced a note-book.
From the bar of the booth came a large, hairy, red-faced man, whose face
showed fatuous self-complacency. He was a noted show-judge because he
refused, on principle, to listen to others' opinions; or in those rare
cases when he did, only to eject a scornful contradiction. The third
judge was a local squatter, who was overwhelmed with a sense of his own
importance.

They seated themselves on a raised platform in the centre of the ring,
and held consultation. The small dark man produced his note-book.

"I always keep a scale of points," he said. "Give 'em so many points for
each fence. Then give 'em so many for make, shape, and quality, and so
many for the way they jump."

The fat man looked infinite contempt. "I never want any scale of
points," he said. "One look at the 'orses is enough for me. A man that
judges by points ain't a judge at all, I reckon. What do you think?" he
went on, turning to the squatter. "Do you go by points?"

"Never," said the squatter, firmly; which, as he had never judged before
in his life, was strictly true.

"Well, we'll each go our own way," said the little man. "I'll keep
points. Send 'em in."

"Number One, Conductor!" roared the ring steward in a voice like
thunder, and a long-legged grey horse came trotting into the ring and
sidled about uneasily. His rider pointed him for the first jump, and
went at it at a terrific pace. Nearing the fence the horse made a wild
spring, and cleared it by feet, while the crowd yelled applause. At the
second jump he raced right under the obstacle, propped dead, and rose
in the air with a leap like a goat, while the crowd yelled their delight
again, and said: "My oath! ain't he clever?" As he neared the third
fence he shifted about uneasily, and finally too