I don't know whose."
John said, "That's funny."

"Why funny?" said Dick; but John said naught;
He looked at the horse's legs and thought.
Yet at last he said, "It beats me clean,
But whoever he is, he must be green.
There are eight in this could give him a stone,
And twelve should beat him on form alone.
The lad can ride, but it's more than riding
That will give the bay and the grey a hiding."

Dick sucked his cane and looked at the horse
With "Nothing's certain on Compton Course.
He looks a peach. Have you tried him high?"

John said, "You know him as well as I;
What he has done and what he can do.
He's been ridden to hounds this year or two.
When last he was raced, he made the running,
For a stable companion twice at Sunning.
He was placed, bad third, in the Blowbury Cup
And second at Tew with Kingston up.
He sulked at Folkestone, he funked at Speen,
He baulked at the ditch at Hampton Green,
Nick Kingston thought him a slug and cur,
'You must cut his heart out to make him stir.'
But his legs are iron; he's fine and fit."

Dick said, "Maybe; but he's got no grit.