"I didn't mind swimming, at all," remarked the horse.
"Nor did I," added Jack.
They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a
continuation of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip once
more mounted the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Saw-Horse.
"If you ride fast," said he, "the wind will help to dry your clothing. I
will hold on to the horse's tail and run after you. In this way we all will
become dry in a very short time."
"Then the horse must step lively," said Jack.
"I'll do my best," returned the Saw-Horse, cheerfully.
Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the Saw-Horse, and
called loudly: "Get-up!"
The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he decided
they could go faster, so he shouted: "Trot!"
Now, the Saw-Horse remembered that this word was the command to go as fast
as he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous pace,
and Tip had hard work -- running faster than he ever had before in his life
-- to keep his feet.
Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call "Whoa!" to the
horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then the end of
the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead branch, suddenly
broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in the dust of the road,
while the horse and its pumpkin-headed rider dashed on and quickly
disappeared in the distance.
By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his throat
so he could say "Whoa!" there was no further need of saying it, for the
horse was long since out of sight.
So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a good
rest, and afterward began walking along the road.
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