"As if I needed instructions!" retorted his sister. "I wish I could see a boar—a big one with a particularly frightful temper and tusks to match."
"I'll bet you that you can't kill a boar," he said in good-humoured disdain.
"I don't see any to kill."
"Well, I bet you can't find one. And if you do, I bet you don't kill him."
"How long," asked Geraldine dangerously, "does that bet hold good?"
"All winter, if you like. It's the prettiest single jewel you can pick out against a new saddle-horse. I need a gay one; I'm getting out of condition. And all our horses are as interesting as chevaux de bois when the mechanism is freshly oiled and the organ plays the 'Ride of the Valkyries.'"
"I've half a mind to take that wager," said Geraldine, very pink and bright-eyed. "I think I will take it if——"
"Please don't, dear," said Kathleen anxiously. "The keepers say that a wounded boar is perfectly horrid sometimes."
"Dangerous?" Her eyes glimmered brighter still.
"Certainly, a wounded boar is dangerous. I heard Miller say——"