The High School Boys' Canoe Club Part 5

"The sale is closed. Anything that is sold now will go at private sale," retorted the auctioneer.

"Oh, come now!" protested Ripley. "I'd like to trade with you."

"You can, if you produce the price. At least, your friend can.

I can't deal with you, for you're a minor."

Fred tried vainly to persuade the auctioneer to lower the price of the saddle, but finally concluded to pay ten dollars for it and two dollars for a bridle. A worn saddle cloth was "thrown in" for good measure. Ripley handed the money to the auctioneer's clerk.

"Saddle up," directed Fred, tossing a quarter to the man who held the pony's bridle.

Though flushed with his bargain, Fred was also feeling rather solemn. He had parted with nearly all of the sixty dollars his father had handed him that morning as his summer's spending money.

He was beginning to wonder if his pony would really take the place of all the fun he had planned for his summer vacation.

"Here is your mount, sir," called the man who had done the saddling.

"Now, let's see what kind of a horseman you are."

"As good as you'll find around Gridley," declared Fred complacently.

Putting a foot into the left stirrup, he vaulted lightly to the animal's back.

"He has a treasure, and we're stung," muttered Dave Darrin in a low voice. "Those that have plenty of money and can afford to lose don't often lose!"

Before starting off Fred, glancing over at d.i.c.k & Co. standing dolefully on the truck, brayed insolently:

"Haw, haw, haw!"

Dave clenched his fists, but knew that he could do nothing without making himself ridiculous.

"Get up, Prince!" ordered young Ripley, bringing one hand smartly against the animal's flank.

"He's going to call his pony 'Prince,'" whispered Danny Grin.

"It looks like an appropriate name," nodded d.i.c.k wistfully.

For some reason the pony didn't seem inclined to start. Fred dug his heels against the animal's side and moved away at a walk.

"A-a-a-ah!" murmured a crowd of small boys enviously.

"Now, show a little speed, Prince," ordered Fred, digging his heels in hard.

The pony broke into a trot. Someone pa.s.sed Ripley a switch, with which he dealt his animal a stinging blow. Away went pony and rider at a slow canter.

"Fine gait this little fellow has," exulted Fred, while cheers went up from the small boys.

Suddenly the animal slowed down to a walk. Fred applied two sharp cuts with the switch, again starting his mount. Fred turned and came cantering back toward the group, feeling mightily proud of himself.

Suddenly the pony stopped, trembling in every limb.

"Get off, young man!" called someone. "Your pony is going to fall!"

Fred got off, feeling rather peculiar. He wished that the six fellow high school boys over on the truck would move off.

Mr. Dodge hurried over to the young man, looking very much concerned.

"Fred," murmured the banker, "for all his fine looks I'm afraid there is something wrong with your pony."

"What is it?" asked Fred, looking, as he felt, vastly troubled.

At that moment an automobile stopped out in the road.

"Beg your pardon, Mr. Dodge," called the chauffeur, "but are you going to want me soon?"

"I want you at once," called back the banker, adding in a lower voice to Fred:

"Flannery, my new chauffeur, was a coachman for many years. He's a fine judge of horseflesh."

Flannery came up, an inquiring look on his face.

"I want you to look this pony over and tell me just what you think of him," directed the banker.

Flannery went over the pony's "lines" with the air of an expert, as, indeed, he was.

"Fine-looking little beast," said Flannery. "He has been well fed and groomed."

Then he looked into the pony's mouth, examining the teeth with great care.

"Used to be a nice animal once," decided Flannery, "but he was that a long time ago. He's about twenty-five or twenty-six years old."

"_What_!" exploded young Ripley, growing very red in the face.

"Thinking of buying him, sir?" asked the chauffeur respectfully."

"I've already bought him," confessed Fred ruefully.

Flannery whistled softly. Then he took the pony by the bridle, dragging him along over the ground at a trot, the crowd making way for him.

"Wind-broken," announced the ex-coachman, leading the trembling animal back. "Bad case, too."

"A veterinary can cure that," Fred declared, speaking more airily than his feelings warranted.

"Hm!" replied Flannery dryly. "You find the veterinary, Master Fred, and I'll show the gentleman how to make his fortune if he can cure wind-broken horses."

"Then what good is the pony?" demanded Fred in exasperation.

"Well, the hide ought to fetch three dollars, and there are a good many pounds of soap fat in him," replied Flannery slowly.

"And is that all the good there is in this pony?" cried Ripley.

He felt like screaming.