OUR HELP 163 



the four winds to take your Impossible 

 Person by the shoulders, and, exerting your 

 small remaining strength, thrust or perhaps 

 kick (there is no telling how near to lunacy 

 such association may bring you) her out of 

 the room, bang and lock the door in her 

 face. But you don't do it. You go out to 

 mount your horse, on business bent. 



' Humph ! you a-goin' to ride that horse ? 

 I've ridden some fine horses in my time ! 

 Wish you could ha' seen the kind o' rider 

 / was could break any colt as ever you laid 

 your eyes on ! Can ride anything now 

 don't know's I care how wild.' 



You look at the ' too, too solid flesh ' 

 before you, with which tight corsets have 

 played strange pranks, and a sudden frantic 

 desire possesses you to see it upheaved into 

 the air and mounted on the impatient little 

 steed awaiting you. 



'Well, get on this mare and take a ride 

 up the ranch ; she's tolerably gentle.' 



' N-n-no ; I guess not. I'm busy to-day 

 don't feel like ridin', any way.' 



She never does feel like riding any more, 

 and there is at least one subject of conversa- 



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