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Amid this crowd, I recognized more than one face which I had often seen in my equestrian lounges through town, peering from the shoulders of some intrusive, ragamuffin, wagesless lackey, and squealing out of its wretched, unpampered mouth, the everlasting query of "Want your oss held, Sir?"
"I believe," said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger, "that your son has broke the noo 'oss, sir, better nor I could 'ave done myself." "I believe that my son has broken his neck," said Mr Kennedy wrathfully. "Come here and help me to dig him out."
On witnessing this climax, Mr Kennedy, senior, pulled up, dismounted, and ran with an expression of some anxiety on his countenance to the help of his son; while Tom Whyte came out of the stable just in time to receive the "noo 'oss" as he floundered out of the snow.
Sponge said this, Sir Richard driv' hup, and havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next thing I see'd was Mr. Sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag.
Last time as I rode of him second horse, I found him different gettin' inquisitive at his places and when they gets inquisitive they soon begins to get slow. You'll look at the Vampire 'oss, sir, before you go back to town?" Now "the Vampire 'oss," as he called him, was an especial favourite with Mr. Crop.
Buckram, with a scrutinizing glance at Sponge, 'and an oss in hevery respect werry like your work, but he's an oss I'll candidly state, I wouldn't put in every one's 'ands, for, in the fust place, he's wery walueous, and in the second, he requires an ossman to ride; howsomever, as I knows that you can ride, and if you doesn't mind taking my 'ead man, jerking his elbow at Leather, 'to look arter him, I wouldn't mind 'commodatin' on you, prowided we can 'gree upon terms.
"Yes, Cap'en." "You're going to ride a horse." "A wot?" roared Chipmunk. "A thing on four legs, that kicks like hell." "Wotever for? I ain't never ridden no 'osses." "You're going to learn, you unmilitary-looking, worm-eaten scab. You've got to be a ruddy soldier." "Gorblime!" said Chipmunk, "that's the first I 'eard of it. A 'oss soldier? You're not kiddin', are you, Cap'en?" "Certainly not."
In the midst was an old man, his countenance pallid as death, save where a broad stream of blood pouring from a gash two inches long, crimsoned his cheek from eye to chin. There was a great bruise on his temple, and again on the back of his head for he had spun round in falling was a lump the size of a pullet's first egg. "'Oss ran away and pitched him on the curb," said one whom I questioned.
In January, there was a letter in the mail from Jim Oss, my acquaintance of the train on which I came West. We had been carrying on a desultory correspondence, but this message was momentous. "I am giving a dance Monday," he wrote, "to celebrate proving up on my homestead. Come ahead of time so you can see all the fun."
Am I of a age to drink water like a 'oss, you nasty thing! Oh, to think as ever I should live to be desarted!" Inattentive to these murmurs, which she felt unreasonable, the bouncing Martha now quitted the room to repair to her "upper household" avocations. The man at the hearth was the only companion left to the widow.
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