“Race along behind! There’s a good fellow!” Harry called.
And with these words of scant consolation, the machine glided off, leaving Billy a very much disconcerted and crestfallen goat.
Then jealousy crept into his heart, and filled it near to bursting.
“They surely remember that it is my automobile. I am the one who really earned it, I’d have them to know! I am the one who should have had the honor of the very first ride. It is my money they are spending, and yet here I stand, alone and forsaken, while they go whizzing off in such fine style!”
Now as everyone knows, boys and girls especially, jealousy is a very naughty thing to cherish, and revenge is even worse, but, his anger mounting higher and higher, Billy proceeded to plan vengeance.
“I don’t like the smell of the thing, anyhow, and if they don’t let me ride in it, perhaps my horns can take some of the shine off its sides. I’ll bite a piece out of the tires, too, and then maybe they’ll have time to remember a little of what Billy Whiskers has done for this family. I might even drink the gasolene, but you see that might explode after it’s inside of me and not prove altogether a safe undertaking,” and he sadly returned to the cellar door for his usual afternoon nap.
The Treats did not return for two hours or more, and then all were so loud in their praises of the automobile that poor Billy was quite forgotten.
A bountiful supper was spread, and the machinist entertained in true country style. After the meal, all repaired to the porch for a final chat before the driver should be taken to Springfield by Mr. Treat.
“I’ll remind them of my existence,” thought Billy, and he stalked slowly across the front lawn with majestic tread, in full view of the group, on his way to the barn and his quarters for the night.
“What a very fine goat you have there,” complimented the chauffeur.