" They stood and watched the miserable Saunders tread gingerly up the filthy street, his knees crooking outwardly from time to time, his toes always touching the ground first, very much as if he were contemplating an instantaneous sprint in any direction but the one he was taking.

For about five hundred yards the horse took a sprint that knocked off his cap and fairly took his breath away.

In the last mile dash Dr. Nicholls surreptitiously took his stop-watch from his pocket and timed the sprint.

"That animal used to win sprints in England; do you know that?" Mr. Cazenove shrugged his shoulders.