“Thanks a lot for coming, Jim,” said Morgan sincerely. “Your speech was the best and the frankest that club has heard in a long time.”
“Jim is getting to be quite a famous business man,” commented Arnold. “If he were only a little older, we’d invite him to join our Thursday night stag parties.”
Jim said good-by and went out to his faithful mustang. He had had an enjoyable evening and felt rather guilty that Ticktock had such a small share in his glory. After all the horse was a full partner.
“I guess you wouldn’t have enjoyed chicken and peas anyhow,” he said as he mounted. “Anyway we got some very good publicity. Everybody knows about us now and we should get lots of work.”
It was ten-thirty and the evening had been much more exhausting than Jim had realized. The effort of making a speech had been as tiring as a day’s hard labor and Jim felt like relaxing. Ticktock knew the way home as well as he, so the boy let the mustang take charge. After a short distance the steady jog-jog of the pony’s easy walk lulled him to sleep. Slumping in the saddle, he dozed.
Everything was serene for about a quarter of a mile, when Jim sensed something was wrong. Sleepily he opened his eyes and tried to figure out what was amiss. Finally he realized Ticktock had stopped and was standing still at the edge of the road.
“Come on, Ticktock. It’s late. Let’s get on home,” he said in a drowsy voice.
Ticktock didn’t move but stood looking down into the ditch. Jim had the greatest confidence in his horse and as he gradually became fully awake, knew that the pony must have some reason for stopping. Then he heard a whimpering sound in the dark.
Feeling a little frightened, he slipped the loop of his lantern from the saddle horn and flashed the light into the dark ditch beside the road. There was a dog lying on its side.