“Don’t stop,” cried Tom. “I’ve only got to go back to the house. I’ll catch up. Keep ’em going.”
“Whoohaw, gee a little,” shouted Goodman, snapping his long whip and the oxen kept up their sleepy pace, while Tom ran back to the house to get the lunch.
“Isn’t this lovely?” said Cherry. “Whenever we get tired of riding we can walk on ahead and wait for the team to catch up. Why haven’t we ever done this before?”
“Because it would be something of a task to get six pair of cattle on any day except fair day,” I explained. “And, by the way, this costs us nothing. Goodman is honoured at having us come. Said so—in other words. Was insulted when I spoke of payment.”
“I’m learning something new about the country people all the time,” said Cherry.
“Goodman sells cheeses. He doesn’t rent cattle. If we had wanted a cheese it would have cost us market prices, but a ride after the Egerton string honours him and Egerton. That’s the Yankee of it.”
“Isn’t it glorious? Where is Mr. Warden? He’ll surely get left.”
Just then an automobile going to the fair came up behind us and passed us tooting the loudest horn I ever heard.
The cattle were not broken to automobiles and the leaders started to run, their example was followed all along the line, and in a minute (and to the secret gratification of Goodman, who had not liked Tom’s cavalier way of going back as if we were stationary) the six pair of cattle were running away.
The wagon bumped and pitched and we were pitched and bumped amid shrieks from Minerva and laughter from the rest.