Val had told herself that Ethan had invented the ride so that they should be freer; they would get ahead of the others, or fall behind, and have some time to themselves. But Mrs. Ball started off next morning with Mr. Gano, and ruthlessly rode beside him all the way. Val alternately raged in her heart, and forgot how sore it was, watching one of those two on in front. How well he sat his horse! But so did Harry. What was it in Ethan that distinguished him so from other men, and set him for ever apart? She tried to give it a name while Harry's small-talk trickled vaguely through her brain.
They stopped to lunch, and put up the horses at the Forest Park Lodge.
While they were dismounting, a buggy dashed up with a man and a girl in it. The miserable old mare had been driven to death, and was covered with sweat and foam.
"Brute!" said Ethan under his breath, glowering at the man, who threw the reins round the whip, and helped his companion out.
"Pretty sort of girl to let him drive like that," was Val's comment, as the couple went towards the hotel.
"Never saw so much of a beast's ribs before without the trouble of taking off his skin," said Wilbur.
"My goodness!" added Mrs. Ball, "that's not a horse; it's a plate-rack."
"Look here," said Ethan to the man who was leading their horses to the stables, "you're going to rub this other beast down, I suppose, and—"
"Never have no sich orders from Mr. Joicey," said the man. "That's Joicey." He jerked his thumb after the two figures. "Comes here a lot. Mare looks wuss'n she is. D'ye know that there nag is Blue Grass?"