“It’s that horse girl!”
“It’s her that rode Beatrice Courtenay’s runaway!”
“I’ll bet all my alleys she does b’long to a circus, an’ that’s another of ’em!”
“Say, Sissy, what show you skedaddle out of? Give us the tip!”
“The tip, no? The whole of it, you miserables!” Suiting the action to the word, Sutro leaned sidewise from the saddle, and laid about him hastily with his short riding-whip. This had the effect of ridding them from immediate persecution, and, taking advantage of this lull in the attentions of the street boys, Steenie gave Tito his word of command, and away they shot at a pace to distance all pursuers.
Madam Calthorp looked up from her book as the clattering of horse-hoofs fell on the gravel of the path which led to her disused stable, and could scarcely believe her own eyes for the story they told her.
She was still trembling from the shock of her surprise when Steenie bounded into her presence, wild with excitement and radiantly glad. “O, Grandmother—Grandmother! Who do you think has come? Tito—Tito—Tito! My own Tito! And that blessed old Sutro, who is as old as old, but didn’t mind anything but staying away from his niña! Come—come—quick—and see them!”
She could not stand still, not one instant; but around and around her grandmother’s chair she danced, while that lady slowly rose, wondering at herself for even this concession.
“This way! This way! To the—I s’pose it’s the stable! And won’t Tito be glad to get into a quiet stall once more? And the grass! Can he roll on the cunning little lawn, Grandmother?”
“Steenie, silence. Be still for one moment. What is all this? Who is ‘Tito,’ who ‘Sutro’? Why are you not at school?”