"'I guess that'll hold little Hammy,' I says, when Snowball's up. But it don't. The colt ain't any more'n felt the curb when he bolts into the fence 'n' chucks Snowball off. I starts to catch the hoss, but Micky gets to him first 'n' grabs him.
"'Lemme give him a whirl,' he says. 'Come on—be a sport fur a change!'
"Snowball rolls away from the colt 'n' picks hisself up.
"'He is shoh welcome to him,' he says. 'I got no moh use foh him.'
"I studies a minute, lookin' at Micky. He don't come much above Hamilton's knee. He's lookin' at me like a pup beggin' fur a bone.
"'Go to it, you ornery little shrimp!' I says at last. 'If a worse pair ever gets together I've never seed it!'
"Micky gives a yelp like a terrier.
"'Take off this bit 'n' put a straight bar on him,' he says.
"'Why, you couldn't hold one of his ears with a bar bit,' I says.
"'Who's ridin' this hoss?' says Micky. 'Go awn, get the bit!'