"
"Bandershanks, baby, you hurry on out front and be climbing
into our buggy."
I was so glad to get to leave I didn't even ask Mama why she
wanted me to be in a rush.
Old Dale was standing there in the shade of the tree where
Mama had hitched him, his ears dropped down, his eyes half
closed, all his weight on three feet. Once in a while he would
give his tail a swish to scare away the two horseflies that kept
settling on his hind legs.
He didn't even notice when I climbed up into the buggy seat
and started playing with the reins. I put one forefinger between
the flat, slick leather lines and joggled them up and down with
both hands. Then, stretching my legs so I could prop one foot up
on the dashboard, like Papa always did, I practiced saying
"Glick! Glick!" out of the corner of my mouth, just exactly like
Papa.
I eased the whip out of its holder and waved it round and
round high in the air. That whip was as old as the buggy but it
looked brand new, for Papa and Mama wouldn't ever use it. They
said Dale was too decrepit to be whipped.
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