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THE PET HORSE
137
"It’s pretty bad, the way you’ve ridden
today," said Lars Berget soberly, when Johnny
Blossom came into the stable with Bob. "He
is all used up, poor Bobby!"
"He breathes so queerly," said Johnny
Blossom.
"If you only haven’t broken his wind, boy.
Pretty risky — to ride him the way you have
these last days."
Oh, dear! How dreadful! At home no one
knew a thing about anything, and here he had
behaved like this and perhaps hurt Bob. To
"break a horse’s wind" was dangerous he knew,
because he had heard about one of the livery
stable horses that had to be shot on account of
being "broken-winded." But Bob! It was
impossible that it should go that way with Bob!
Oh, it couldn’t!
"Why, John dear, aren’t you eating
anything?" asked Mother that noon.
Oh, he had had enough — plenty.
"It seems to me you are very pale," pursued
Mother. "Are you sure you are not sick?"
Pooh! Far from it. He wasn’t the least bit pale.
Oh, they didn’t know anything about the
trouble with Bob, and he didn’t dare to say a
word about the racing or anything.
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