One thing, however, he fully appreciated, and that was the old horse-hair whip that hung near the chimney corner. Sallie Tom took it down and shook it out in the air.
“You see dis?” she said, as she arose from her seat to go back to the house. “You see dis heah, Peter Black? Mars’ Robert told you to-day dat you b’long to de little marsa, now, and so you does. Yo’ foots is to run for him, yo’ han’s is to work for him, yo’ tongue is to talk up for him, yo’ eyes is to look out for him; but you b’long to me, too, Peter Black, and when yo’ foots don’t run, and yo’ hands don’t work, and yo’ eyes don’t see, and you gets to any foolin’, den me and dis heah frien’ of yourn will hav’ suppin to say to you, Peter Black, and now go long wid you,” and Sallie Tom turned and threw her arms around him and hugged him passionately, and then sent him out to play.
From the day of his induction into office Peter Black never gave cause for any regret as to his selection. His idolatry of his little master was almost pathetically absurd. It was he who called him Mars’ Bobbie, the day he crowed so lustily in his face, and the name seemed to fit so well the rollicking, laughing, happy little soul that it just stayed, and no one wanted it changed. When he first began to crawl it was over Peter Black’s back, and Peter’s was the only hand he would touch when he tried to make his first steps, and almost before he could call his mother he would cry for “B’ Bac,” and “B’ Bac” was always there.
On up through the days of infancy the comradeship continued to grow, and though Bobbie’s was the imperious one of babyhood, he loved Peter Black better than anything on earth, and shared faithfully every piece of cake or candy that was given him, and it was due to this absolute and complete submission to his will that Peter Black let his young master have his way about the horses, an indulgence which resulted in Bobbie’s broken nose. When the latter crept out of his room the night before the big race he made Peter Black promise to wake him up the next morning at 4 o’clock. “I’m not going to tell you what for,” said Bobbie, “but you wake me up;” and Peter Black did as he was bidden.
Together they crept through the house and down to the stables, and then Bobbie told his plans. “Major Dalrymple said last night he knowed Lady Virginia was a-going to beat the whole place, and I know there ain’t a horse in the world that can beat my father’s Dare Devil, and I just want to tell him so, and I’m going to try and see. You must get on Lady Virginia and I will ride Dare Devil; and don’t let’s have any saddles, ’cause my feet don’t touch.”
They almost ran as they talked, and it was in vain that Peter Black protested and begged his little master not to do so dreadful a thing; but Bobbie’s blood was up, and words had no effect. They opened the stable and led out their favorites to the track, and slipped up on their backs. “Now, when I count three you let her go, and you make her go, ’cause I don’t want to win easy. If I come back here first, I beat; if you first, then I’ll tell father it’s no use. Now, listen. One, two”—Bobbie’s voice trembled with excitement—“three!”—and they were off.
CHAPTER II.
They said afterward that the big race wasn’t half so exciting as this one witnessed by an unexpected audience. They had hardly mounted their horses and gotten under way before several of the stable boys and the visiting grooms were rushing wildly to the track. The horses had been missed at once, and already up to the house the message had been sent that Mars’ Bobbie and Peter Black were racing.