Jasper soon found that Gilbert knew how to ride. His position was easy and unconstrained, and his seat was firm. He seemed as much at ease as in a parlor. But then Bucephalus was behaving well. He showed spirit, but was obedient to the rein.
"How do you like Bucephalus?" inquired Jasper.
"I find no fault with him. He is a fine horse. What made your coachman so afraid of trusting me on him?"
"I hope you won't be angry with John," answered Jasper, laughing, "but he doubted whether you could ride. If you didn't know anything about riding, your horse would soon find it out, and take advantage of it."
"Almost any horse would do that."
"Of course."
"I suppose you have ridden Bucephalus, Jasper?"
"Certainly, though not often. I am used to my own horse—General, I call him—and I naturally prefer him."
Jasper did not speak the truth. He had never ridden Bucephalus, nor would he have done so for a considerable sum of money, though he was by no means a poor rider. But Gilbert had no reason, or thought he had not, for doubting his assertion, and readily believed that it was only the coachman's doubt of his horsemanship that had given rise to the fears he expressed.
"How long has your father owned Bucephalus?" inquired Gilbert.