“Was that, really, all you ever studied?”
“All, says you? Sure, ’twas more nor enough. Home I went to me dad an’ he topped off the crack of the priest’s stick with a crack of his own, and set me to hoein’ the praties. Yes, I know, I know. Learnin’ is nice for them that can’t get on without it, but Dennis Fogarty’s the boy as can. Och! This ridin’ like a gentleman is a’ most harder nor walkin’ the track, so it be.”
“How soon do you s’pose we’ll find my brother?”
“Bother! But yourself is the one for questions!”
“It is you who are bothering, Dennis; for though I ask them I notice that you never answer.”
“Well, then, I’ll answer that one. We’ll meet up with him by sundown!”
“That’s a dear Dennis. That’s quite as kind as Miguel and very like him. He always promises whatever I wish, whether he can keep his promise or not. I think I like that, anyway, it makes you feel so good inside. But, come on! I’ll race Connemara against master Cork! Straight to the ‘north!’ The way our father went, the way my Carlos followed, and now—we. Go!”
The burro set off on a short-paced but steady trot and Dennis valiantly tried to keep up; but Cork would not be urged, cajoled, nor punished into faster than a walking gait, which irritated Carlota and secretly gratified the ex-trackman.
Only those who, at their first trial, have continued horseback exercise for hours can understand his sufferings. But finally, the girl suspected the truth and modified the burro’s pace. She even suggested that Dennis should walk.
“Would—Meegell?”