"Hippy, my darlin', do be careful," begged Nora as her husband limped up the gangway, jaws set, the light of battle in his eyes, his anger rising with every step he took.
Hippy clasped the pony's neck, the rat-tat-tat of the animal's heels against the side of the car being somewhat reminiscent of machine-gun fire to the Overland girls.
"He'll be killed!" wailed Nora.
"Who? The pony?" asked Emma in an unruffled voice.
"No! What do I care about the pony? It's my Hippy."
A yell from the villagers brought others running to the scene, but no one offered assistance. Hippy and the bronco were tussling on the threshold of the car with Hippy's feet in the air most of the time.
"Tickle him in the ribs," suggested a villager. "That'll make him laugh and he'll fergit to kick."
The villagers howled with delight.
"Tickle him yourself," retorted Nora.
"Jump!" urged Miss Briggs.