"Put me up!" Boy ordered.
Again the lad obeyed, and the next thing he was aware of was the swish of the filly's thoroughbred tail as she disappeared round the corner of the street.
An hour later the girl clattered into the yard at Putnam's, the filly in a foam.
Monkey Brand, a chamois leather in his hand, came running out.
"Miss Boy!" he cried.
There was an extraordinary air of suppressed excitement about the girl. She was white-hot and sparkling, yet cold. Indeed, she gave the impression of a sea of emotions battling beneath a floor of ice.
"I've got out," she said.
Panting, but fearless eyed, she went in to face her mother.
Mrs. Woodburn did not seem surprised.
She met her daughter's resistance with disarming quiet.