"I know I shall fall! Oh, oh, for goodness' sake—if I break my neck, Sam, it's your—oh—oh——"
The sentence, ending in a wail, was too much for Sam. He seized Buttercup by the bridle, while Bins, nearly convulsed with laughter, aided the frightened rider to dismount.
"Thanks, old chap," panted Howard. "I know I made an awful spectacle of myself. Talk about jolts, bumps and aching bones—say, does anybody really enjoy riding?"
"Oh, listen to him!" cried Sam Bins, with another explosion.
"Of course they do," said Randall, loftily, bestowing a compassionate look upon the crestfallen Howard. "Let me show you how to do it," and he vaulted into the saddle.
Fenton gazed after him admiringly, as he rode around in a wide circle, then skilfully drew his spirited steed alongside.
"You're a crackerjack, Sam," he exclaimed. "But I'll stick to electric cars and trains."
"Oh, dese city fellers," chuckled Sam Bins.
"Here—I'll take a turn, too," put in Tom Clifton.
The smallest member of the Rambler Club also managed Buttercup with ease. Proudly, he put the horse through its paces, and, flushed with triumph, called out, as he rode up, "How's that for riding?"