“Yes, that is best, little John.”
“But it is a terrible thing. Carlstrom says that I’ve ruined Bob riding him so hard and that Bob must be”—
Johnny could say no more, but threw himself flat on the floor and cried. By degrees Mother got him to tell about the big boys, who wanted to ride, about the racing and everything.
“It was really shameful of those great big boys,” said Mother.
“Yes, but Father said I was to be kind to Bob, and careful of him—and I haven’t been,” sobbed Johnny. “And besides, I am the heir of Kingthorpe, you know, Mother.”
Johnny’s face was swollen with crying, and the tears had made streaks down his dirty cheeks.
“Of course you should have spoken to Father and Mother about it.”
“Yes.”
Mother put him down on the sofa and washed his hot, tear-stained face. Some time after he exclaimed, “Mother.”
“Yes, little John?”