ing. "You know you couldn't sit your horse once round."
"I'm going to ride, and ride to win, nevertheless," persisted the little man, as he scraped some mud from the sides of a huge beast he was leading.
"Why, your mount's been rolling, and never even been groomed since," remonstrated Frank.
"You want me to scratch my horse to give you a show," retorted Tom. "I won't do it! That's plain. I'm going to show you all how to win, hands down."
Unmercifully Tom had been chaffed concerning his horsemanship. He rather liked the joke, and loved to exaggerate his awkwardness just, as he termed it, "for the fun of the thing."
So cleverly did he mingle affectation of innocence with evidence of shrewdness, that it was difficult to discover where his knowledge ended and ignorance began.
"Let those laugh who win. I'll whip you all tomorrow," he had ominously declared.
Tom and O'Lochlan had put their heads together.
"I have a horse," said Larry, "that'll carry you first past the winning-post, if only you can stick to him."
"I'll do that, never fear," Tom assured him, "if they won't bump against me."
"That they'll do, right enough," replied Larry, laughing.
"I do not mind, O'Lochlan, if I get a good grip of the pummel. The man should be canonized who invented pummels. They are so convenient when you feel you're rolling off—e. g. when the brute stops suddenly—that's always awkward, isn't it?—and you lie on his neck; or when he shies at a rustling leaf."
"Well, you hold on by your eyebrow, and you'll finish
