Six Ponies (27 page)

“Now, my pet,” said Mrs. Cresswell, “don’t be silly. I admit that Dawn’s not much to look at, but it’s no good laying all the blame on her. You know you haven’t been schooling her regularly—that’s the trouble. I don’t doubt your ability for a moment; it’s just that you’ve been getting slack. You’ve been resting on your laurels, and you can’t afford to do that, with all these children around chock-full of spite and jealousy. They’re all out to beat you, and you really mustn’t give them the satisfaction, my pet. It would be too humiliating, especially when it’s just through slackness.”

“It’s not, Mummy,” said June. “If I schooled that wooden-necked, cow-hocked, stupid animal every day for a year, she still wouldn’t know as much as Wonder. She’s common, and that’s all there is to it.”

“I will not be contradicted in this way,” said Mrs. Cresswell crossly. “You’ve got to school that pony, June. I’m not going to be made to look a fool through your laziness. If you can’t be bothered to ride her, I shan’t take you to the Thornton show next Saturday.”

John rode home from the rally feeling happier than he had for a long time. The Major had been awfully agreeable, and had said that Jet had improved immensely, and that he could see that John was keeping his side of the bargain. John had felt terribly embarrassed. He was quite sure he had blushed, but still the Major was quite right; he hadn’t lost his temper with Jet since that horrid day, the very thought of which made him go hot all over. It was also true that Jet had improved: she could jump grids and in-and-outs perfectly, she was much easier to keep straight than she used to be, and not nearly so nappy, besides being a faster walker and jolly good at turns on the forehand. John was glad that he had taken her to the rally, though he had had a job beforehand to decide between her and Turpin. Susan had been much more friendly than usual, he thought, as he unsaddled Jet. She had invited him to tea at the Towers, and also to school Jet with Sunset and Romany whenever he liked, which John thought would be a nice change from riding alone. Susan and Noel weren’t bad; at least they didn’t spend their time pointing out one’s faults and mistakes like that conceited ass, Richard Morrisson.

Susan was vaguely dissatisfied that she had ridden Beauty at the rally, for Sunset had been the only young pony absent, and Susan felt that she would have liked to have compared her with the others, though at heart she knew that Sunset was behind everyone but Rufus and Romany. Susan also had an uncomfortable feeling that Noel jumped Beauty better than she did, for she had had four faults over the same course that Noel had jumped clear at the last rally. Not that Noel had managed Romany very
well; in fact not nearly so well as Evelyn, which was queer, thought Susan, considering the hours she spent schooling and reading those dreadful dry books. As she gave Beauty to Bob and hurried indoors, Susan thought of her tea party. Romany might be able to join in races by then, and perhaps she would let John have a ride on Beauty.

Chapter IX

T
HE
S
UMMER
T
ERM
passed quickly as usual. The horse-breakers who were lucky enough to be at day schools devoted most of their time schooling their ponies in frenzied preparation for the fast-approaching Pony Club gymkhana.

Only the thought of boring Romany prevented Noel from schooling her every evening as well as at the week-ends. She was determined to do better at the gymkhana than she had at the rally, and though she was often disheartened when Romany behaved extra badly, she was, on the whole, pleased with her improvement. At first she had had rather a dull time, riding the school figures at the walk and trot in a rubber snaffle, and back-reining Romany each time she got out of control. Then half-way through the term she began to canter and jump her. Jumping took a lot of patience, for Romany would get wildly excited and gallop about the field. But walking over a pole on the ground had a quietening effect, and gradually Noel was able to raise the jumps. As the holidays drew near, she saved her pocket money to add to some convenient birthday presents, with which she was going to buy a double bridle. She was determined that Romany should not be behind the other ponies because she hadn’t the proper tack.

Richard came home from school with a new craze—architecture—and, as usual, everything had to be given up for it. Rufus was a bore, Major Holbrooke a pest, and the Pony Club gymkhana a waste of time. When his mother lectured him on his lack of perseverance, he said that she wanted him to be a horsy nitwit like June Cresswell, and he was hanged if he would. Each morning he mounted his bicycle and pedalled off in search of Roman remains, Norman churches, or Gothic arches, and in the evenings he read guide-books to find more buildings of architectural interest. Every day he put off schooling Rufus until the next.

John, helping to get in the early harvest, generally had to school Jet after dinner, but luckily the evenings were long, and his parents didn’t bother about what time he went to bed. Jet was improving rapidly, but John didn’t feel competent to ride her in a double bridle. In spite of Major Holbrooke’s lectures, he still didn’t see why collection was necessary or how the bits worked, and he decided that it was better not to mess about with things one didn’t understand. It wasn’t until the second week of the holidays that he rode over to the Towers to see how Noel and Susan were getting on. He found them studying the diagrams of the school figures which Major Holbrooke had sent Noel.

“Gosh,” said John, when he saw what they were about, “don’t you get enough geometry at school?”

“Don’t take Susan’s part,” said Noel. “We must know the beastly things by the gymkhana.”

“I certainly do, John,” said Susan. “But Noel is such a bully—she’s worse than any form mistress. But you’d better look out or you’ll get dragged in too.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Noel, blushing. “You know that you needn’t learn them if you don’t want to, but you always say that you do.”

“All right, all right,” said Susan. “I was only trying to be funny, but let’s get on, for it’ll soon be lunch-time, and we must have a jumping competition now that John’s here.”

“That’ll be super,” said John. “I want to compare Jet with your ponies, but I bet she’s miles behind; it’s such a curse being away at school.”

“Yes,” said Noel sympathetically, “it must be beastly.”

“Thank goodness mummy disapproves of boarding schools,” said Susan.

“I’ve only got ten more days to catch up in,” said John gloomily. “I’m sure I’ll never do it.”

“Don’t talk about it,” said Noel. “I’ve got the needle already.”

“Oh, Noel, you can’t have it yet,” said Susan. “Ten days is simply
ages
.”

“I can’t help that,” said Noel. “I’ve got the needle; I
have it every night in bed. It’s all very well for you; Sunset is quite decently schooled and fairly reliable, but Romany knows nothing, and goodness knows how she’ll behave at the gymkhana.”

“Rot,” said John. “I bet she knows a jolly sight more than Jet, or Rufus for that matter.”

“Does Richard
ever
ride Rufus?” asked Susan.

“I dunno,” said John. “Not much, I think. You see, he’s always having crazes; in the Christmas holidays it was stamps, last holidays it was cycling, and now I hear it’s remains.”

“Remains?” said Susan. “Remains of what?”

“You know,” said John. “Old churches and things; awfully dull.”

“He’d get on well with my father,” said Noel. “That’s all he’s interested in.”

“Golly! How terrible for you,” said Susan. “I’d rather have daddy, though he always talks about shoes, they’re better than remains.”

“Oh, no,” said Noel. “Shoes are sordid. I’m not interested in fossils or anything like that, but I love Georgian houses and Jacobite battlefields.”

“Ugh! History,” said Susan.

“Come on,” said John. “If we’re going to jump, we’d better start.”

Jet won the jumping contest with one fault over a two-feet-six course, and Sunset was second with two refusals at different jumps. Romany had four faults for knocking down the last jump with her fore-legs. Then Susan and John decided to have some races, and Noel was persuaded to join in, against her better judgment. Romany became thoroughly over-excited: she kicked the bucket over in the potato race and refused to stop at the poles to allow Noel to grab the potatoes. In the saddling-up race she galloped off, bucking with Noel half-on, and, of course Noel fell off. But, worst of all, she broke three of Susan’s poles in the bending race.

John’s and Susan’s obviously tactful attempts to find
excuses for Romany’s bad behaviour made Noel feel more crestfallen than ever, and as she rode homewards she wondered what Major Holbrooke would say when Romany behaved like this at the Pony Club gymkhana. His cousin would be there, she supposed, and all the people who usually judged, besides hundreds of spectators and competitors, and everyone would say pityingly that Noel Kettering would never make a horsewoman and that the Major must have been mad to let her have Romany. Probably the cousin would be so furious when he saw his best-looking pony completely ruined that he would have a terrific row with the Major there and then, and it would all be her fault for being such a hopeless mixture of conceit and feebleness.

“If only she wouldn’t spend so much time bothering over the school figures and the correct aids for everything,” said Susan to John as Noel rode out of the gate. “Why doesn’t she just ride Romany about until she gets sensible, as the rest of us did with our ponies, and leave the theory to June?”

“Romany was spoilt when Noel had her,” said John. “She might have stood a chance if she had had Sunset or Jet, but it was rough luck getting somebody else’s cast off.”

“Yes, but if Noel had had her way I wouldn’t be teaching Sunset collection,” said Susan. “She would have kept her at those horrid balancing exercises for ever. Then she always says I overface Sunset, but she jumped better than Romany to-day.”

“Of course I haven’t got Jet in a double bridle yet,” said John.

“That’s not your fault,” said Susan. “You’ve been away at school, but Noel’s had all the term, and she’s only just got a double bridle.”

“Well, I suppose it’s her affair,” said John. “And, personally, I can’t see much point in all this wretched collection. I’m quite satisfied with Turpin, and he couldn’t collect to save his life.”

“But you must teach Jet to collect,” said Susan, “or you
won’t have an earthly against June, honestly you won’t, and we’re all relying on you to beat her if Hilary doesn’t.”

“What a thing to rely on,” said John, trying not to sound pleased. “But don’t you worry; I know I haven’t the ghost of a chance. June first, Hilary second, you third—that’s how I’d place them.”

“Oh, no,” said Susan. “I shan’t be anywhere.”

There had been unpleasantness among the Radcliffes about their entries right up to the eve of the gymkhana. As they cleaned their tack they still argued.

“All you people think about is yourselves,” complained Evelyn. “You don’t care about the honour of the stable. I tell you Darkie won’t be anywhere if Jim rides her; if he must enter why can’t he have Rocket, Hilary? You know that he hasn’t a chance either.”

“I know,” said Hilary, “but I still want to ride him and, even if Doc. would let him, Jim doesn’t want to. Anyway it’s a well-known fact that you shouldn’t put an inexperienced pony and rider together and you couldn’t have a less experienced pair than Jim and Rocket.”

“Well, you jump both ponies,” said Evelyn. “Jim’s sure to fall off.”

“Nonsense,” said Roger.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Hilary. “I should feel frightfully mean jumping two ponies when Jim hadn’t one. Besides, what does it matter if he does come off? He’s got to begin riding in shows some time, you know.”

“Oh, all right then, have it your own way,” said Evelyn disagreeably. “But it’ll mean another walkover for June, with Clarrissa second.”

“We shall survive that,” said Roger. “So far you’re the only pot-hunter in the family; it won’t worry the rest of us much.”

“Do you think Pixie’s got a chance?” asked Margaret, unintentionally tactful.

“About as much as the rest of the family, which is none at all,” said Evelyn.

“If she jumped really well she might get reserve again,” said Hilary. “But she’s too small to compete against Golden Wonder and Sweet William; even if she did a clear round, they’d beat her in the jump off.”

“I shall will them not to do clear rounds. Jim and I have a way,” said Margaret. “It works sometimes, doesn’t it, Jim?”

“It nearly did in the bending last year,” said James.

“What do you do?” asked Roger. “Make waxworks of the competitors and stick pins into them at vital moments?”

“No,” said Margaret. “It’s a secret, isn’t it, Jim?”

“Yes, definitely,” said James. “If we tell anyone, it won’t work.”

“Oh, Evelyn,” said Hilary, “you’ve spilt whitening all over my saddle.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Evelyn. “But you can’t grumble, because you did tread on my reins.”

“How can I clean my tack when there’s no saddle soap?” asked Richard in a melodramatic voice as he flung himself despairingly on the drawing-room sofa.

“Well, whose fault is that?” asked his mother tartly.

“I suppose Jill finished it while I was away at school,” said Richard. “How like a girl not to get any more!”

“I didn’t finish it,” said Jill. “I never cleaned Wendy’s tack in the term. You threw the soap away in the middle of last holidays because you wanted the tin to boil glue in.”

“Well, you ought to have cleaned Wendy’s tack in the term, then we should have known that there wasn’t any saddle soap,” said Richard.

“I’ve cleaned Wendy’s tack later than you’ve cleaned Peter’s,” said Jill. “You haven’t cleaned his since the very beginning of the Easter holidays, and I did clean Wendy’s half-way through.”

“It’s easier for you,” said Richard. “You’re a girl and girls like cleaning things. Anyway, you have much more time, and Wendy’s tack is much easier. A mere felt saddle
and a snaffle without a noseband—that shouldn’t take you five minutes.”