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And Fate was thorough.

For it was Anthony's kismet that he should be taught to ride by a favourite old groom, one Michael Houlihan, a warped and wizened little Irishman who, cleanly spoken and not given to blasphemy, had but one oath, an objurgation picked up from the admired master in whose stables he had first learned his trade as stable-boy, groom and jockey.

As everyone is aware who knows, and what hunting man and race-horse owner does not know, the great Patrick Murphy--whose horses were famous in every Irish hunt and in not a few English, as well as in every Irish Horse Show and on every Irish race-course, as well as in the Grand National--had but one oath, and, by its frequency, made up for its singularity:

"The carrse of Cromwell on it" or "on ye," as the case might be.

How many times had not the stable-boy, groom and jockey, Michael Houlihan, been cursed by the great Patrick Murphy in those terms?

"Phwat? Ye worthless little spalpeen! The carrse of Cromwell on ye."

And in humble imitation of the greatest man he had ever known, Michael Houlihan passed it on to his horses.