By this time, three or four boys had gathered on the sidewalk, and were staring at our performance.
"Shall I hit him?" said Ned, breaking a switch.
"No," said Phaeton, more excited than before; "don't touch him! Back, Dobbin! Back!"
But Dobbin seemed to be one of those heroic characters who take no step backward.
"I know how to manage it," said Ned, as he ran to the wood-pile and selected a small round stick. Thrusting the end of this under the gate, he pried it up until he had lifted it from its hinges, when it fell over outward, coming down with a tremendous slam-bang upon the sidewalk. A great shiver ran through Dobbin, beginning at the tips of his ears, and ending at his shaggy fetlocks. Then, with a quick snort, he made a wild bound over the prostrate gate, and landed in the middle of the road.
I don't know how Phaeton managed to keep his seat, but he did; and though the boys on the sidewalk set up a shout, Dobbin stood perfectly still in the road, waiting for the next earthquake, or falling gate, or something, to give him another start.
"Come on, boys! Never mind the gate!" said Phaeton.
When he said "boys," he only meant Ned and me. But the boys on the sidewalk promptly accepted the invitation and came on, too.
"You walk on the nigh side," said Phaeton to me, "and let Ned take the off side."
I was rather puzzled as to his exact meaning; and yet I was proud to think that the boy who represented what might now be considered our party on horseback, as distinguished from the strangers on foot crowding alongside; was able to use a few technical terms. Not wishing to display my ignorance, I loitered a little, to leave the choice of sides to Ned, confident that he would know which was nigh and which was off. He promptly placed himself on the left side, near enough to seize his brother by the left leg, if need be, and either hold him on or pull him off. I, of course, then took a similar position on the right side.