X.

--Ye couldn't have made him a rider,

And then ye know, boys will be boys, and hosses,

--well, hosses is hosses!

_Harte_.

When you and Nell go to take your exercise ride, Esmeralda, you

must assume the air of having ridden before you were able to

walk, and of being so replete with equestrian knowledge that

the "acquisition of another detail would cause immediate

dissolution," as the Normal college girl said when asked if she

knew how to teach. You must insist on having a certain horse, no

matter ho much inconvenience it may create, and, if possible, you

should order him twenty-four hours in advance, stipulating that

nobody shall mount him in the interval, and, while waiting for

him to be brought from the stable, you should proclaim that he is

a wonderfully spirited, not to say vicious, creature, but that

you are not in the smallest degree afraid of him. You should pick

up your reins with easy grace, and having twisted them into a

hopeless snarl, should explain to any spectator who may presume

to smile that one "very soon forgets the little things, you know,

but they will come back in a little while."

Having started, you must choose between steadily trotting or

rapidly cantering, absolutely regardless of the rights or wishes

of any one else, or else you must hold your horse to a spiritless

crawl, carefully keeping him in such a position as to prevent

anybody else from outspeeding you. If you were a man, you would

feel it incumbent on you to entreat your master to permit you to

change horses with him, and would give him certain valuable

information, derived from quarters vaguely specified as "a person

who knows," or "a man who rides a great deal." meaning somebody

who is in the saddle twenty times a year, and duly pays his

livery stable bill for the privilege, and you would confide in

some other exercise rider, if possible, in the hearing of seven

or eight pupils, that your master was not much of a rider after

all, that the "natural rider is best," and you would insinuate

that to observe perfection it was only necessary to look at you.

If, in addition to this, you could intimate to any worried or

impatient pupils that they had not been properly taught, you

would make yourself generally beloved, and these are the ways of

the casual exercise rider, male and female. But you, Esmeralda,

are slightly unfitted for the perfect assumption of this part by

knowing how certain things ought to be done, although you cannot

do them, and alas! you are not yet adapted to the humbler but

prettier character of the real exercise rider, who is thoroughly

taught, and whose every movement is a pleasure to behold.

There are many such women and a few men who prefer the ring to

the road for various reasons, and from them you may learn much,

both by observation and from the hints which many of them will

give you if they find that you are anxious to learn, and that you

are really nothing more pretentious than a solitary student. So

into the saddle you go, and you and Nell begin to walk about in

company. "In company," indeed, for about half a round, and then

you begin to fall behind. Touching your Abdallah lightly with

whip and heel starts him into a trot and coming up beside Nell

you start off her Arab, and both horses are rather astonished to

be checked. What do these girls want, they think, and when you

fall behind again, it takes too strokes of the whip to urge

Abdallah forward, Arab is unmoved by your passing him, and you

find the breadth of the ring dividing you and Nell. You pause,

she turns to the right, crosses the space between you, turns

again and is by your side, and now both of you begin to see what

you must do. Nell, who is riding on the inside, that is to say on

the included square, must check her horse very slightly after

turning each corner, and you must hasten yours a little before

turning, and a little after, so as to give her sufficient space

to turn, and, at the same time, to keep up with her. You, being

on her left, must be very careful every moment to have a firm

hold of your left rein, so as to keep away from her feet, and she

must keep especial watch of her right rein in order to guard

herself.

After each of you has learned her part pretty well, you should

exchange places and try again, and then have a round or two of

trotting, keeping your horses' heads in line. You will find both

of them very tractable to this discipline, because accustomed to

having your master's horse keep pace with them, and because they

often go in pairs at the music rides, and you must not expect

that an ordinary livery stable horse would be as easily managed.

It is rather fashionable to sneer at the riding-school horse as

too mild for the use of a good rider, and very likely, while

you and Nell are patiently trying your little experiment, you

will hear a youth with very evident straps on his trousers,

superciliously requesting to have "something spirited" brought

in from the stable for him.

"Not one of your school horses, taught to tramp a treadmill

round, but a regular flyer," he explains.

"Is he a very good rider?" you ask your master. "Last time he was

hear I had to take him off Abdallah," he says sadly, and then he

goes to the mounting-stand to deny "the regular flyer," and to

tender instead, "an animal that we don't give to everybody,

William." Enter "William," otherwise Billy Buttons, whom the

gentleman covetous of a flyer soon finds to be enough for him to

manage, because William, although accustomed to riders awkward

through weakness, is not used to the manners of what is called

the "three-legged trotter"; that is to say, the man whose unbent

arms and tightened reins make a straight line from his shoulders

to his horse's mouth, while his whole weight is thrown upon the

reins by a backward inclination of his body.

If you would like to know how Billy feels about it, Esmeralda,

bend your chin toward your throat, and imagine a bar of iron

placed across your tongue and pulling your head upward. It would

hurt you, but you could raise your head and still go forward,

making wild gestures with your hands, kicking, perhaps, in a

ladylike manner, as Gail Hamilton kicked Halicarnassus, but by no

means stopping. Now suppose that bar of iron drawn backward by

reins passing one on each side of your shoulders and held firmly

between your scapulae; you could not go forward without almost

breaking your neck, could you? No more could Billy, if his rider

would let out his reins, bend his elbows, and hold his hands low,

almost touching his saddle, but, as it is, he goes on, and if he

should rear by and by, and if his rider should slide off, be not

alarmed. The three-legged trotter is not the kind of horseman to

cling to his reins, and he will not be dragged, and Billy is too

good-tempered not to stop the moment he has rid himself of his

tormentor. But while he is still on Billy's back, and flattering

himself that he is doing wonders in subjugating the "horse that

we don't give to everybody," do you and Nell go to the centre of

the ring and see if you can stop properly. Pretty well done, but

wait a moment before trying it again, for it is not pleasant to a

horse. Sit still a few minutes, and then try and see if you can

back your horse a step or two.

In order to do this, it is not enough to sit up straight and to

say "back," or even to say "bake," which, according to certain

"natural riders," is the secret of having the movement executed

properly. You must draw yourself up and lean backward, touching

your horse both with your foot and with your whip, in order that

he may stand squarely, and you must raise your wrists a little,

and the same time turning them inward. The horse will take a

step, you must instantly sit up straight, lower your hands, and

then repeat the movement until he has backed far enough. Four

steps will be quite as many as you should try when working thus

by yourself, because you do not wish to form any bad habits, and

your master will probably find much to criticise in your way of

executing the movement. The most that you can do for yourself is

to be sure that Abdallah makes but one step for each of your

demands. If he make two, lower your hands, and make him go

forward, for a horse that backs unbidden is always troublesome

and may sometimes be dangerous.

"Just watch that man on Billy Buttons," says your master, coming

up to you, "and make up your minds never to do anything that you

see him do. And look at those two ladies who are mounting now,

and see how well it is possible to ride without being taught in

school, provided one rides enough. They cannot trot a rod, but

they have often been in the saddle half a day at a time in

Spanish America, whence they come, and they can 'lope,' as they

call it, for hours without drawing rein. They sit almost, but not

quite straight, and they have strength enough in their hands to

control any of our horses, although they complain that these

English bits are poor things compared to the Spanish bit. You

see, they can stay on, although they cannot ride scientifically."

"And isn't that best?" asked Nell.

"It is better," corrects the master. "The very best is to stay on

because one rides scientifically, and that is what I hope that

you two will do by and by. There's that girl who always brings in

bags of groceries for her horse! Apples this time!"

"Isn't it a good thing to give a horse a tidbit of some kind

after a ride?" asked Nell.

"'Good,' if it be your own horse, but not good in a riding-

school. It tends to make the horses impatient for the end of a

ride, and sometimes makes them jealous of one another at the

mounting-stand, and keeps them there so long as to inconvenience

others who wish to dismount. Besides, careless pupils, like that

girl, have a way of tossing a paper bag into the ring after the

horse has emptied it, and although we always pick it up as soon

as possible, it may cause another horse to shy. A dropped

handkerchief is also dangerous, for a horse is a suspicious

creature and fears anything novel as a woman dreads a mouse."

What is the trouble on the mounting-stand? Nothing, except that a

tearful little girl wants "her dear Daisy; she never rides

anything else, and she hates Clifton, and does not like Rex and

Jewel canters, and she wants Da-a-isy!"

"But is it not better for you to change horses now and then, and

Daisy is not fit to be in the ring to-day," says your master.

"Jewel is very easy and good-tempered. Will you have him?"

"No, I'll have Abdallah."

"A lady is riding him."

"Well, I want him."

It is against the rules for your master to suggest such a thing

to you, Esmeralda, but suppose you go up to the mounting-stand

and offer to take Jewel yourself and let her have Abdallah. You

do it; your master puts you on Jewel, and sends the wilful little

girl away on Abdallah, and then comes up to you and Nell, thanks

you, and says, "It was very good of you, but she must learn some

day to ride everything, and I shall tell her so, and next time!"

He looks capable of giving her Hector, Irish Hector, who is

wilful as the wind, but in reward for your goodness he bestows a

little warning about your whips upon Nell, who has a fancy for

carrying hers slantwise across her body, so that both ends show

from the back, and the whole whip is quite useless as far as the

horse is concerned, although picturesque enough with its loop of

bright ribbon.

"It makes one think of a circus picture," he says; "and, Miss

Esmeralda, don't hold your whip with the lash pointing outward,

to tickle Miss Nell's horse, and to make you look like an

American Mr. Briggs 'going to take a run with the Myopias, don't

you know.' Isn't this a pretty horse?"

"Well, I don't know," you say frankly; "I'm no judge. I don't

know anything about a horse."

For once your master loses his self-possession, and stares

unreservedly. "Child," he says, "I never, never before saw

anybody in this ring who didn't know all about a horse."

"Well, but I really don't, you know."

"No, but nobody ever says so. Now just hear this new pupil

instruct me."

The new pupil, who thinks a riding habit should be worn over two

or three skirts, and is consequently sitting with the aerial

elegance of a feather bed, is riding with her snaffle rein, the

curb tied on her horse's neck, and is clasping it by the centre,

allowing the rest to hang loose, so that Clifton, supposing that

she means to give him liberty to browse, is looking for grass

among the tan. Not finding it, he snorts occasionally, whereupon

she calls him "poor thing," and tells him that "it is a warm day,

and that he should rest, so he should!"

"Your reins are too long," says your master.

"Do you mean that they are too long, or that I am holding them so

as to make them too long," she inquires, in a precise manner.

"They are right enough. Our saddlers know their business. But you

are holding them so that you might as well have none. Shorten

them, and make him bring his head up in its proper place."

"But I think it's cruel to treat him so, when he's tired, poor

thing! I always hold my reins in the middle when I'm driving, and

my horse goes straight enough. This one seems dizzy. He goes

round and round."

"He wouldn't if he were in harness with two shafts to keep his

head straight"--

"But then why wouldn't it be a good thing to have some kind of a

light shaft for a beginner's horse?"

"It would be a neat addition to a side saddle," says your master,

"but shorten your reins. Take one in each hand. Leave about eight

inches of rein between your hands. There! See. Now Guide your

horse."

He leaves her, in order that he may enjoy the idea of the side

saddle with shafts, and she promptly resumes her old attitude

which she feels is elegant, and when Clifton wanders up beside

Abdallah, she sweetly asks Nell, "Is this your first lesson? Do

you think this horse is good? The master wants me to pull on my

reins, but I think it is inhuman, and I won't, and"--but

Clifton strays out of hearing, and your arouse yourselves to

remember that you are having more fun than work.

There is plenty of room in the ring, now, so you change hands,

and circle to the left, first walking and then trotting, slowly

at first, and then rapidly, finding to your pleasant surprise,

that, just as you begin to think that you can go no further, you

are suddenly endowed with new strength and can make two more

rounds. "A good half mile," your master says, approvingly, as you

fall into a walk and pass him, and then you do a volte or two,

and one little round at a canter, and then walk five minutes, and

dismount to find the rider of the alleged William assuring John,

the head groom, that redoubtable animal needs "taking down."

"Shall ride him with spurs next time," he says. "I can manage

him, but he would be too much for most men," and away he goes and

a flute-voiced little boy of eight mounts William, retransformed

into Billy Buttons, and guides him like a lamb, and you escape up

stairs to laugh. But you have no time for this before the

merciful young woman enters to say that she is going to another

school, where she can do as she pleases and have better horses,

too, and the more you and Nell assure her that there is no school

in which she can learn without obedience, and that her horse was

too good, if anything, the more determined she becomes, and soon

you wisely desist.

As she departs, "Oh, dear," you say, "I thought there was nothing

but fun at riding-school, and just see all these queer folks."

"My dear," says philosophic Nell, "they ar part of the fun. And

we are fun to the old riders; and we are all fun to our master."

Here you find yourselves enjoying a bit of fun from which your

master is shut out, for three or four girls come up from the ring

together, and, not seeing you, hidden behind your screens, two,

in whom you and Nell have already recognized saleswomen from whom

you have more than once bought laces, begin to talk to overawe

the others.

"My deah," says one, "now I think of it, I weally don't like the

setting of these diamonds that you had given you last night. It's

too heavy, don't you think?"

The other replies in a tone which would cheat a man, but in which

you instantly detect an accent of surprise and a determination to

play up to her partner as well as possible, that she "liked it

very well."

"I should have them reset," says the former speaker. "Like mine,

you know; light and airy. Deah me, I usedn't to care for

diamonds, and now I'm puffectly infatooated with them, don't you

know! My!" she screams, catching sight of a church clock, and,

relapsing into her everyday speech: "Half-past four! And I am due

at"--[An awkward pause.] "I promised to return at four!"

There is no more talk about diamonds, but a hurried scramble to

dress, an a precipitate departure, after which one of the other

ladies is heard to say very distinctly: "I remember that girl as

a pupil when I was teaching in a public school, and I know all

about her. Salary, four dollars a week. Diamonds!"

"She registered at the desk as Mrs. Something," rejoins the

other. "She only came in for one ride, and so they gave her a

horse without looking up her reference, but one of the masters

knew her real name. Poor little goosey! She has simply spoiled

her chance of ever becoming a regular pupil, no matter how much

she may desire it. No riding master will give lessons to a person

who behaves so. He would lose more than he gained by it, no

matter how long she took lessons. And they know everybody in a

riding-school, although they won't gossip. I'd as soon try to

cheat a Pinkerton agency."

"I know one thing," Nell says, as you walk homeward: "I'm going

to take an exercise ride between every two lessons, and I'm going

to ride a new horse every time, if I can get him, and I'm going

to do what I'm told, and I shall not stop trotting at the next

lesson, even if I feel as if I should drop out of the saddle.

I've learned so much from an exercise ride."