"Go on, you! You try it first, and, if you don't make it, you lose. I don't have to try it if I don't want to," agreed Ned, with rare prudence.
Chunky was fairly hugging himself with glee, but he took good care that Ned Rector did not observe his satisfaction.
"If you don't you're a tenderfoot," taunted Stacy.
"I'll show you who's the tenderfoot. You go ahead and bolt the dinner, table and all, if you dare. Now, then!"
Stacy gathered up his reins. There was mischief in his eyes, which were fixed on the table, neatly set for the evening meal.
"You start right after me. They'll be surprised to see a procession of ponies going over the table, won't they?"
"Somebody'll be surprised. May not be the Professor and Santa Claus, though," growled Ned.
Stacy had his own ideas on this question, but he did not confide them to his companion.
The fat boy clucked to his pony, and the little animal started off. As they moved along, Stacy used the persuasive spurs resulting in a sudden burst of speed.
"Come on!" he shouted.