"Th' harness an' the saddle an' not a cent's wuth moah, sonny. Is it a go?"
"Yes," answered Bob.
"Co-rect, neighbor—the mule is yours. Don't never git behind him, onless ye want to go to heav'n by th' direct route," added the man from Alabama.
"Which means that he can kick," said Mark, in dismay.
"Wall, I reckon he wouldn't be a mule ef he couldn't do thet same," responded Washington Gossnacker.
The transfer was made on the spot, and while the man from Alabama took possession of the scow, Bob swung himself up on the mule's back. As quick as a flash the animal swerved around, began to kick, and then set off at a break-neck speed up the street.
"Whoa!" yelled Bob, holding tight to the reins. "Whoa, you skyrocket; whoa, I say!"
"Look out that he don't throw you!" screamed Mark, and he started after his chum, and several in the crowd followed. Up the street went the mule, with Bob clinging desperately to the saddle. Then the boy gave the reins a strong pull and spoke gently to the animal, and soon the mule came to a stop.
"Better get down," suggested Mark, as he came up.
"No, sir, I'm going to show Mr. Mule that I am his new master," returned Bob, and he made the mule run once more, stopping and starting him half a dozen times. At last the mule was worn out and under perfect control, and then Bob patted him gently and gave him something to eat.