Part 21 (1/2)

”Well he's come to the proper place for a little 'orse,” announced the face in a very husky whisper and disappeared again.

”Why, just my very words!” declared Mr. Hannaford with high delight.

”Just my very words, bless my eighteen stun proper if it wasn't! Step out, Stingo. Lord Burdon, over from Burdon, with his young lords.h.i.+p and a--” Mr. Hannaford stopped and stared around him. ”Why, wherever's that young Pocket Marvel got to?”

”I'm here!” Percival called excitedly. ”I'm stroking this dear little black one and he knows me; so I should like to know what you think of that?” He came dancing out from the stall of the little black one, his face blazing with excitement, and simultaneously the replica of Mr.

Hannaford's face appeared again and a replica of Mr. Hannaford's figure advanced towards them.

”Proud!” declared the replica in a strained whisper, and raised his hat. ”You're doing well,” he whispered to Mr. Hannaford. ”You're doing uncommon well.” He extended his hand and the brothers shook hands, very solemnly on the part of the replica, with beaming delight on the part of Mr. Hannaford.

”Steady down, boy; steady down and join us,” Mr. Hannaford earnestly entreated, holding Stingo's hand and gazing into his face with great fondness. But Stingo slowly shook his head, and turning to Lord Burdon again, raised his hat and after many severe throatings managed a husky repet.i.tion of ”Proud!”

Mr. Hannaford heaved an astonis.h.i.+ngly loud sigh, pulled himself together with a leg-and-cane crack that caused all the little 'orses to start, and addressed himself to business. Little master, he declared, had a proper eye for a proper little 'orse. The little black 'orse that little master had stroked might have been specially born for his lords.h.i.+p's purpose; picked up at Bampton fair last spring, a trifle too stout and not quite the colouring for a circus little 'orse and trained to be the first of Stage Two: little gentlefolks' little 'orses.

Concluding this recommendation, Mr. Hannaford put his head outside the stable and roared ”Jim!” in a voice that might have been heard at Little Letham; Stingo put his head out and throated ”Jim!” in a husky whisper that n.o.body heard but himself; and presently there appeared a long, thin youth wearing a brimless straw hat that was in constant movement owing to an alarming habit of twitching his scalp.

”Fix him up and run him out,” commanded Mr. Hannaford, jerking a thumb at the little black 'orse; ”and keep your scalp steady, me lad, else you'll do yourself a ninjury.” He glared very fiercely; and Jim, touching an eyebrow which a violent twitch had rushed up to the point that should have been covered by the brimless straw hat, took down a bridle and approached the little black 'orse with the air of one who antic.i.p.ates some embarra.s.sment.

Mr. Hannaford's stables looked on to a small enclosed paddock, much cut about with hoofs and marked in the centre by a deeply trodden ring, around which, as he explained, the little 'orses were put through their circus paces.

Rollo shyly held his father's hand; Stingo revolved slowly on his own axis the better to keep a surprised eye on Percival, who pranced and bounded with excitement; and presently the little black 'orse, with tossing head and delighted heels, was produced before them.

”Now!” said Mr. Hannaford, patting the little black 'orse with one hand and extending the other to Rollo. ”Up you come, my little lords.h.i.+p.

Nothing to be afraid of. Only his fun that. Steady as a little lamb when you're on his back--perfectly safe, me lord,” he a.s.sured Lord Burdon.

But Rollo hung back, nestling his hand deeper into his father's and flus.h.i.+ng with nervous appeal into Lord Burdon's face. His riding in the Park did not accommodate the natural timidity of his nature to the adventures of a strange mount, and less so to the doubtful prospects that the spirit of the little black 'orse appeared to offer. Lord Burdon understood, and patted Rollo's hand. ”Not feeling quite up to it, old man? Well, we'll ask Mr. Hannaford to send the pony over to the Manor, and try him there, eh?”

”Blest if you ain't right, me young lords.h.i.+p,” declared Mr. Hannaford tactfully. ”Never be hurried into trying a new little 'orse. That's the way. Jim shall bring him round for you, me lord, first thing in the morning. Walk him up the field, Jim, to let his lords.h.i.+p see how he moves.”

Jim clicked his tongue, the little black 'orse bounded amain, and Percival, who had been watching with burning eyes, could control himself no longer. ”Oh, let me!” Percival cried. ”Just one tiny little ride! Lord Burdon, _please_ let me! I _'treat_ you to let me!”

”Why, you can't ride,” Lord Burdon objected playfully.

”I could ride him _anywhere_!” Percival implored. ”He knows me. Just look how he's looking at me. Oh, please--_please_!” and he ended with a shout of delight, for Lord Burdon nodded to Mr. Hannaford and Mr.

Hannaford swung Percival from the ground into the saddle.

”Shorten up that stirrup-iron, Jim,” said Mr. Hannaford, stuffing Percival's foot into the stirrup on his side. ”Catch hold this way, little master. Stick in with your knees. That's the way. Run him out, Jim.”

The straw-hatted youth made a clutch at the bridle, the little black 'orse jerked up its little black head, and Percival jerked up the bridle and cried: ”Let go! let go!” and kicked a stirruped foot at the straw-hatted youth and cried: ”He _knows_ me, I tell you!”

”Pocket Marvel,” commented Stingo huskily, watching the struggle.

”Pocket Marvel, if ever I saw one.”

”Why, that's just the very words that I called him, bless my eighteen stun proper if it isn't!” cried Mr. Hannaford in huge delight; and simultaneously the straw-hatted youth, with a terrible cry and a tremendous jerk of the scalp, received a pawing hoof on his foot and relaxed his hold on the bridle.

Away went the little black 'orse and away went the Pocket Marvel bounding in the saddle like an india-rubber ball; shouting with delight; losing a stirrup; clutching at the saddle; saving himself by a miraculous twist as the little black 'orse circled at the top of the field; b.u.mping higher and higher as the little black 'orse came gamely trotting back to them, and finally shooting headfirst into Mr.

Hannaford's arms, as Stingo caught the bridle and the little black 'orse came to a stop.

Mr. Hannaford placed Percival on his legs and he stood by the little black 'orse's side, breathless, flushed, the centre of general congratulations and laughter, from the deep ”Ho! Ho!” and terrible leg-and-cane cracks of Mr. Hannaford to the silent signals of appreciation indicated by the rapid oscillation of the brimless straw hat on the astonis.h.i.+ng scalp movements of Jim.