jump) they said his front legs were barked flve dollars' worth.
I wouldn't have minded if he had got the five dollars,
poor thing, for after ramming him once I became confused at the
notoriety I attracted, and, instead of reversing, I threw in the
highspeed clutch and rammed him some more. Oh, yes, he had some
right to have a kick coming, though all he did was to look at me
reproachfully and then lie down. He was an Italian vegetable
horse, and from the way his friends vociferated they must have
thought a lot of him.

Of course, Harry and Nelly were taking their lessons, too, and
getting into their individual scrapes in the intervals of my
getting into mine. Pa was the only stock-holder who never came
to time, though he used to walk round to the garage on his day to
make sure the bubble was at home. He was awfully mean about his
rights and explained the syndicate principle to Mr. Hoover, the
head of the establishment, and tipped right and left, so that
there shouldn't be any doubt about the blanks being blanks. I
tried to bluff Mr. Hoover once and take out the car on pa's day,
but I bumped into a regular stone wall. Pa had given everybody
there a typewritten schedule with his days marked in red ink, and
the whole thing had become the joke of the garage, till even the
wipers grinned when the foreman would call out: "Syndicate car
there, for Miss Lockwood."

In fact, that car seemed to make everybody mean who was in the
least way connected with it. I was a perfect pig myself, and
Harry and Nelly were positively worse. It was one of our rules
that the rider of the day should be answerable for any troubles
or breakages that occurred when be (or she) was running the car.