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Frank Merriwell's Son; or, A Chip Off the Old Block, a fiction by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 30. The Educated Horse |
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_ CHAPTER XXX. THE EDUCATED HORSE Honk! honk! honk! Frank glanced over his shoulder. "Automobile coming, Bart," he said. "She's raising a cloud of dust. Better give her plenty of room." Frank and Bart were out for a morning horseback ride through the country. After a dash of an hour or more, they had turned back and were now in sight of Farnham Hall and Merry Home. Bart's mount began to dance and lunge. "Whoa, Pansy--whoa, lady," he said soothingly. "She doesn't fancy buzz wagons a great deal, Merry." "She never did," replied Frank, "but she'll get used to them. They're growing thicker every day. I've ordered one myself." "Honk! honk! honk!" sounded the automobile horn close behind them. With a purring of the valves, a soft panting from the exhaust, and a whir of wheels, a huge red machine flew past them in a cloud of dust. "Forty miles an hour," said Hodge, blinking his eyes and turning his cap brim down to the cloud of dust. "That's some speed for these roads, Merry." "And I'll guarantee they'll go through town like that," returned Frank. "Whew! Some of these machines ought to have a sprinkler attachment." "They're stopping," said Bart. "By George! they're turning into your place. Did you know any one in the car?" "Got only a glimpse of them, and they seemed to be strangers to me." "That's a flyer they have. What make is it, do you know?" "It's a French machine, I believe. It looks to me like a Mercedes." "Are you going to have an imported machine, Frank?" "Oh, no. I'm satisfied with the best American makes. A good American machine is better adapted for our roads than any of the crack foreigners." "How do you make that out?" "It's simple enough. In France they have grand roads everywhere. Their machines are made for such roads, and on such roads they can fairly fly. In this country we have a few fairly good roads, but the majority of our highways are wretchedly bad. The American makers have built machines adapted for such roads, and on these roads our better-made motor cars are superior to anything we can bring across the water." "But I understand that most of the American machines are fakes. I've been told they are far from perfect." Frank laughed. "The perfect automobile has not been made, and I doubt if it ever will be," he answered. "The honest American manufacturers who know their business are making honest machines. It's true that there are a host of fakers in the business. It's true that nearly seventy-five per cent of the machines turned out at the present time are built for the sole purpose of making money for the manufacturers. The American public has not yet been educated to the point of discerning between the fake and the honest article. Nevertheless they're learning mighty fast, and within a very few years the fakers are bound to reach the end of their ropes and go to the wall. Unless they change their methods, five years from now one-third of the concerns now doing business will no longer be in the field. Ten years from now a half of the present manufacturers will be out of it." "That sounds a little pessimistical for you." "Oh, no, Bart; it's optimistical. I'm confident that the sharks and sharpers will fail and the honest concerns will endure and prosper. The automobile has come to stay. There is no question about that. The majority of the present-day buyers are going to be defrauded, and many of them will become disgusted. In purchasing a machine I've not relied on my own judgment, but I've sought the advice of friends who were competent to advise. I hope and I believe that I've got my money's worth. Here we are, and there are the gentlemen of the red bubble talking with some of the fellows." The machine stood on the driveway in front of the house, with the chauffeur still in his seat. Two of the four men had stepped out of the car and were talking with Buck Badger, Ephraim Gallup, and Barney Mulloy. Mrs. Merriwell was with a group of her friends on the veranda. Badger waved his hand as Frank and Bart turned in at the wide gate. "Here are some gents what are looking for you, Merry," called the Kansan. Frank clattered up and drew rein, but Bart's horse was frightened and shied at the machine. Hodge gave the little mare a touch of the spur and reined her toward the automobile. After a time he succeeded in bringing her close to it and guiding her round it, although she snorted and fretted and betrayed great alarm and excitement. "You countrymen will have to kill off a few of your skittish horses," observed a stout, sandy-mustached man, one of the two who had left the car. "If you don't, they're liable to kill you." "I don't think there's any great danger of that as long as a man knows how to handle them properly," said Frank, as he patted the neck of his own horse. "Dick was afraid of automobiles, but I've succeeded in eliminating that fear, and you can see how he behaves now." "You never can be sure what a horse will do," returned the stout man. "There never was one yet that had an ounce of brains. They're all fools." "Do you think so?" smiled Merriwell. "Of course you have a right to your opinion, but I don't believe many people will agree with you. I've seen horses which were more intelligent than many men." "Bah! bah!" retorted the stranger. "They can't reason. They can't think. All they know is enough to eat and work. The best horse in the country is none too good to pull a plow." A queer twinkle flashed in Frank's eyes. "Perhaps I can convince you of your mistake, sir," he said. "I don't happen to know your name, but----" "My name is Basil Bearover. This young man here"--with a jerk of his thumb toward Badger--"informs me that you are Frank Merriwell." "Yes, I'm Frank Merriwell, Mr. Bearover. We were speaking of horses. Now I'll admit that Pansy yonder hasn't been properly educated. In time I hope to improve her greatly. In time I hope to teach her to perform a few simple mathematical problems, although I doubt if she'll ever be able to talk." "Huh?" blurted Bearover. "Mathematical fudge! Able to talk? What sort of rot are you trying to give me, young man?" "Have you never seen a horse that could add, subtract, multiply, and divide?" asked Merry, with pretended surprise. "No, sir, I never have, nor has any one else." "Wait a moment before you make such a confident statement. Now this horse of mine can do all those little things and still other things a great deal more surprising. I'll prove the truth of my statement to you. Hey, Dick--Dick, my boy, give me your attention. Now, sir, I wish you to do a little sum for me. Are you ready? Are you listening? Are you attentive?" The horse nodded its head as if in answer to these questions. "Very good, Dick," said Frank. "I'll give you a small sum in addition. How many are two and two?" The horse lifted its forward right foot and struck the ground four times. "That's right, Dick--that's right," laughed Merry, patting the creature's neck. "Now we'll take a little example in subtraction. If we subtract five from ten, how many have we left?" The horse struck the ground five times with its foot. "That's right again, Dick. Let's see what you can do in multiplication. Three times two make how many?" Six times the horse struck the ground. "You're right up to the mark this morning, Dick," said the animal's master. "We'll finish up with a little subtraction. If we take seven from fourteen, how many will be left?" Seven times Dick pawed the ground. "There you are, Mr. Bearover," nodded Merriwell. "Are you satisfied that even horses have brains?" "I'm satisfied that you've trained that critter to do a few tricks," was the answer. "You must think I'm purty dull witted. Why, you begun with an example that made the horse paw the ground four times. Your next question required five strokes of the critter's foot. Then came six, and you followed it up with seven. Come, come, Mr. Merriwell, you're not dealing with chumps. I've seen horses that could do them little things, but it's no sign of brains. You're on the critter's back. By training it, you could git it so it would paw the ground every time you pressed your knee against its shoulder. Git off the horse and stand away; then let's see what it will do. Then let's see you make it do sums in addition, subtraction, and so forth." "Very well," said Merry, as he dismounted, dropping the bridle rein on Dick's neck. "We'll see what he'll do in that manner." He stroked the horse's muzzle, and the animal placed its head on his shoulder. "Dick," said Frank, "this doubting Thomas thinks it's all trickery. He can't believe that you're a finished mathematician. We must convince him, Dick. Now be careful and give your answers correctly. Stand where you are, sir." Frank retreated fully ten feet. With his hands on his hips and a smile on his face, he said: "We'll take a simpler sum in addition, Dick. You understand this is addition, old boy. Two and one make how many?" The horse lifted his foot and struck the ground three times. "Let me give him a question," grinned Bearover. "Let's see if he'll answer me." "Oh, very well," said Frank. "Dick, do you see this gentleman here? Take a look at him. He's going to give you a problem, and you must answer it. I trust he'll make it a simple one. You haven't been brushing up in mathematics lately, and a difficult problem might bother you a little. Will you kindly make it a simple question, Mr. Bearover?" "Oh, yes; oh, yes," chuckled the stout man, "I'll make it simple enough. Let's see if your wonderful horse can tell us how many ten and five added together be." The horse stood quite still for a moment and did not lift its foot. Instead of that, the creature seemed to be eying Basil Bearover with a look of disdain. Finally a most astounding thing happened, for Dick's lip curled back, exposing his teeth, and from his mouth there seemed to issue these words: "Any blamed fool would know that ten and five make fifteen!" _ |
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