“It isn’t worth while for you to say anything at home about our riding,” said Otto. Oh, no! Johnny wouldn’t say anything.
Day after day he found the group of big boys waiting for him. They did not embarrass him now by asking for rides, but took his permission so for granted that he himself had scarcely any chance to ride. However, it was interesting, because it was his horse, after all, and they kept appealing to him.
“Isn’t it my turn now, Johnny Blossom?”
“He’s mean, he is. It’s mine!”
“Are you crazy? He rode only yesterday, John.”
“Oh, John! Tell him to get off and let me ride!”
“Don’t you do it! It’s really my turn.”
My, oh, my! How exciting it was!
Bob—that was the horse’s name—knew Johnny whenever he went into the stable; there was no doubt about that, for the little horse would turn around in his stall and whinny at the sound of the boy’s step or voice. Of course Johnny always had sugar for him and brushed his pretty coat for him every day—dear, cunning little Bob!
One day Otto Holm proposed that they should see who could ride most quickly over a certain distance. Otto, who of course had a watch, should manage the starting; and Peter Prytz should be timekeeper at the turning point; and the time was to be kept strictly, even to the seconds, exactly as in real races. They all thought Otto’s idea a fine one, but again they said to Johnny, “Now don’t go and tattle about this at home, for then all the fun would be over.”