“‘Oh, Felicia, if you could only—’
“That seemed to me too indefinite a wish to answer easily, and apparently Miss Fairley thought the same, for another silence ensued which was embarrassing even to me. So far as I could make out, my Major could not speak, and Miss Fairley would not. I was as anxious as he was to know what she would say, and in my suspense I suddenly conceived an idea that was little short of inspiration, though I say it who ought not. I asked the roan filly:
“‘Is your Felicia resting her weight on the side toward my Major, or on the side away from him?’
“‘She has a very bad seat in her saddle,’ the mare told me, ‘and she is resting all her weight on the side next you.’
“‘Then, Miss Gaiety,’ I suggested, ‘I think they will like it if we snuggle.’
“‘Well, just for this once I will,’ replied the filly, shyly.”
Reveille turned in his stall, and, walking over to his manger, picked up a wisp of hay. But the action was greeted by an outburst from the ladies.
“Oh, you are not going to stop there, dear Mr. Reveille!” they chorused.
“I always did hate a quitter on the home stretch,” chimed in the discontented cob, pleased to have a grievance.
The narrator shook his head.