rider’s canopied seat.

By this director, then that one, Johnny was guided to the spot from which his three dapple grays would start.

He had hardly reached the position than a high-pitched, melodious, but slightly scornful, voice said:

“Why! Who are you? Where’s Peter?”

“Who’s Peter?” asked Johnny, doffing his cap respectfully, but studying the girl’s hands the meanwhile.

“Why, he’s my groom.”

“Begging your pardon, he’s not; I am.”

“You?” She stood back and surveyed him with unveiled scorn. “You? A little shrimp like you?”

Johnny was angry. Hot words rushed to his lips but remained unspoken. He was playing a big game. For the time he must repress his pride.

“I—I—” Millie stormed on, “I like a big groom, a strong one. I shall see about this.”

“Oh!” smiled Johnny, “if it’s strength you want, I guess you’ll find me there. And for horses, I know how to groom them.”

Millie cast an appraising eye over the grays. “Did you do that?”

“Yes, please.”

“They’re wonderful!”

Lifting a dainty foot, she waited for Johnny’s palm. Once it rested securely there, she gave a little spring and would have landed neatly on the first gray’s back, had not Johnny suddenly shot his arm upward. As it was, she rose straight in the air three feet above the horses to land squarely on the middle one of the three.

She landed fairly on her feet. A whip sang through the air. She had aimed a vicious blow at Johnny’s cheek. There was a wild flare of anger in her eye.

Dodging out of her reach, Johnny stood trembling for fear he had foolishly wasted his grand chance.

Presently the girl’s lips curved in a half disdainful smile.

“You are an impudent fellow, and I should have some one thrash you.

 Prev. P 27/98 next