"No, we're not friends!" Bobby snapped. He turned his back and put on his coat; then he started for the house. "You'll be sorry," he threw over his shoulder.
During the next few days Bobby ignored Peter. If he had any business in the neighbourhood of the stables he addressed himself ostentatiously to one of the under men. The rupture of their friendship did not pass unmarked, though the grooms soon found that it did not pay to be facetious on the subject. Billy, in return for some jocular comments, spent an afternoon in adding a superfluous lustre to already brilliant carriage lamps.
The mustang arrived, was christened Apache, and assigned to a box stall. He possessed a slightly vicious eye and a tendency to buck, as two of the grooms found to their cost while trying to ride him bareback in the paddock. Peter shook his head dubiously as he watched the unseating of the second groom.
"We'll put a curb bit on that horse. I don't just like his looks for a youngster to ride."
"Huh!" said Billy, "Master Bobby ain't such a baby as everybody thinks; he can manage him all right."
Word came out from the house that afternoon that Bobby was to try the new mustang. Billy saddled the horses—Apache, and Blue Gypsy for Miss Ethel, and a cob for Peter—and led them out, while Peter in his most immaculate riding clothes swaggered after. The maids were all on the back porch and the family at the porte-cochère to watch the departure. Bobby would accept no assistance, but mounted from the ground with a fine air of pride. Apache plunged a trifle, but the boy was a horseman and he stuck to his saddle.
"Be careful, Bobby," his mother warned.
"You needn't worry about me," Bobby called back gaily. "I'm not afraid of any horse living!"
Blue Gypsy never stood well, and Miss Ethel was already off. Bobby started to follow, but he wheeled about to say: