“Lucky horse! He brings old friends together,—a good omen! Come and see him.”
CHAPTER V.
ACROSS COUNTRY.
I led my friend toward the corral.
“A fine horse that gray of yours,” said I.
“Yes; a splendid fellow,—stanch and true. He will go till he dies.”
“In tip-top condition, too. What do you call him?”
“Pumps.”
“Why Pumps? Why not Pistons? or Cranks? or Walking-Beams? or some part of the steam-engine that does the going directly?”
“You have got the wrong clue. I named him after our old dancing-master. Pumps the horse has a favorite amble, precisely like that skipping walk that Pumps the man used to set us for model,—a mincing gait, that prejudiced me, until I saw what a stride he kept for the time when stride was wanting.”