goin' to go to heverlastin' smash
in the ring. Tommy, dig out a pair o' them burrs."

Not until he reached the tanbark did Bonfire understand what burrs
were. Then, as a rein was pulled, he felt a hundred sharp points
pricking the sensitive skin around his mouth. With a bound he leaped
into the ring.

It was a very pretty sight presented to the horse experts lining the
rail and to persons in boxes and tier seats. They saw a blockily built
strawberry roan, his chiselled neck arched in a perfect crest, his rigid
thigh muscles rippling under a shiny coat as he swung his hocks, his
slim forelegs sweeping up and out, and every curve of his rounded body,
from the tip of his absurd whisk-broom tail to the white snip on the end
of his tossing nose, expressing that exuberance of spirits, that jaunty
abandon of motion which is the very apex of hackney style. Behind him a
short-legged groom bounced through the air at the end of the reins,
keeping his feet only by means of most amazing strides.

It was a woman in one of the promenade boxes, a young woman wearing a
stunning gown and a preposterous picture-hat, who started the applause.
Her hand-clapping was echoed all around the rail, was taken up in the
boxes and finally woke a rattling chorus from the crowded tiers above.
The three judges, men with whips and long-tailed coats, looked earnestly
at the strawberry roan.

Bonfire heard, too, but vaguely. There was a ringing in his ears.
Flashes of light half blinded his eyes. The concoction from the
long-necked bottle was doing its work. Also the jaw-stinging burrs kept
his mind busy. On he danced in a mad effort to escape the pain, and only
by careful manoeuvring could the grooms get him to stand still long
enough for the judges to use the tape.

And when it was all over, after the judges had grouped and regrouped
the entries, compared figures and whispered in the ring centre; out of
sheer defiance to the preference of the spectators they gave the blue to
a chestnut filly with black points--at which the tier seats hissed
mightily--and tied a red ribbon to Bonfire's bridle. Thereupon the
strawberry roan, who had looked fit for a girthsling three hours before,
tossed his head and pranced daintily out of the arena amid a ringing
round of applause.

Hardly had Bonfire's docked tail disappeared before the woman in the
stunning gown turned eagerly to a man beside her and asked, "Can't I
have him, Jerry? He'll be such a perfect cross