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!"