“Oh, Joe, we’ll be good!” declared the twins, with their innocent-looking faces.
“All right, then, none of your pranks! D’you hear?”
“Yes, Joe.”
“Well, mind you ’eed,” he answered, as he started off.
For the first mile they were all right, and then they grew restive. When Joe wasn’t looking Keith would hang on to the tailboard of the cart with his legs swinging in the air, and execute a high kick now and again, much to the delight of the other two. Then, like a flash of lightning, he would be back in his place if old Joe glanced round. But he played the game once too often, and just in the middle of a high kick the cart wheeled round the bend, and he was thrown far out on to the soft clover.
“Oh, Joe, Joe, pull up quick!” cried Doris. “You’ve thrown him out.”
“Who? What?” cried Joe. “Threw him out!” and he pulled up with a jerk.
“Yes, Keith, round the last bend.”
“Sakes alive, you’d send a man crazy, so you would. I ’ope he ain’t ’urt,” and he turned back quickly, to see our hero racing along and crying at the top of his voice.
“Come ’ere and jump in. How did you fall out?”