“Look at him? I am looking at him. Poor old fellow! he’s all in a lather.”
“Yes; he hasn’t had such a gallop for months.”
“How dare you, then! Jump off directly, and walk him home.”
“Shan’t!” was the laconic refusal, accompanied by a grin.
“What!” cried Fred, doubling his fists threateningly.
“Shan’t come off, sir. There!”
“Oh, won’t you!” cried Fred, seizing Samson by the leg, and proceeding as if to tilt him over.
“You leave your father’s special messenger alone, Master Fred, or you’ll get into trouble.”
“Did my father tell you to take the pony?”
“Course he did, and to take what he called a despatch.”