"Must I?" I said, and obediently followed the directions with a patience truly praiseworthy, jogging laboriously up and down, whilst the little beggar followed in my wake, highly delighted, and giving vent as he did so to many loud and excited ejaculations.
Before long, however, he pined for further excitement.
"The road is very, very slippery," he said; "'cause it's been snowing. You must slip right down and break your leg."
"I'll slip into an arm-chair," I said, glancing at the comfortable one I had just quitted.
"No, horses don't slip into arm-chairs; there aren't no arm-chairs for them in the road," he objected.
"I can't help that," I answered, taking a stand. "My bones are too old to risk breaking them. I don't mind my leg being broken in fancy, but I do mind its being broken in reality."
"How shall everyone know, then, that it is broken?" he asked, discontentedly. "It won't look a bit as if it is broken if you fall into an arm-chair."
"I will groan very loud to show that I have," I said in a propitiating voice.
"Do horses groan when they break their legs?" he asked, doubtfully.
"This horse does, very loud indeed," I said. "Come, we'll go once more round the room, and then I'll break my leg and show you how beautifully I can groan."