Cuddy stood saddled and bridled and then Willet turned in last
appeal to his master's son.
"Mr. Geth, I wouldn't ride him--not even if I rode as well as you,
which I don't. That horse has grown worse and worse these last months.
He wants to kill some one, that's what he wants." Geth shook his head.
"No use, Willet, trying to scare me. I know what I'm doing, eh Cuddy?"
He went to the horse and rubbed the base of his ears. The satin head
dropped forward on to the man's chest, a rare response from Cuddy.
Gething led him out of the stable, Willet held his head as the man
mounted.
As he thrust his foot in the stirrup Cuddy lunged at Willet, his
savage yellow teeth crushed into his shoulder. The rider pulled him
off striking him with his heavy hunting whip. The horse squealed,
arched himself in the air and sidled down the driveway. He did not
try to run or buck, but seemed intent on twisting himself into
curves and figures. The two went past the big house with its gables
and numberless chimneys and down to the end of the driveway.
There is a four foot masonry wall around the Gething country-place
("farm" they call it). The horse saw it and began jerking at his bit
and dancing, for ever since colt-hood walls had had but one meaning
for him.
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