'Sam!' said he, 'Sam!' repeated he, in a louder tone, as he saw the object
of his search's nose popping through the midst of the straw.

'What now?' exclaimed Sam, starting up, and looking wildly around; 'what
now?' repeated he, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

'Get out Ercles,' said Leather, _sotto voce_.

The lad was a mere stripling--some fifteen or sixteen, years,
perhaps--tall, slight, and neat, with dark hair and eyes, and was dressed
in a brown jacket--a real boy's jacket, without laps, white cords, and
top-boots. It was his business to risk his neck and limbs at all hours of
the day, on all sorts of horses, over any sort of place that any person
chose to require him to put a horse at, and this he did with the daring
pleasure of youth as yet undaunted by any serious fall. Sam now bestirred
himself to get out the horse. The clambering of hoofs presently announced
his approach.

Whether Hercules was called Hercules on account of his amazing strength, or
from a fanciful relationship to the famous horse of that name, we know
not; but his strength and his colour would favour either supposition. He
was an immense, tall, powerful, dark brown, sixteen hands horse, with an
arched neck and crest, well set on, clean, lean head, and loins that looked
as if they could shoot a man into the next county. His condition was
perfect. His coat lay as close and even as satin, with cleanly developed
muscle, and altogether he looked as hard as a cricket-ball. He had a famous
switch tail, reaching nearly to his hocks, and making him look less than he
would otherwise have done.

Mr. Sponge was too well versed in horse-flesh to imagine that such an