To such a young lady it is impossible to say:  “I have ridden for a little more than a year; the horses with which I am acquainted are benevolent creatures from a riding school near Central Park; they go around the reservoir twice, and return automatically, and they sigh deeply when one mounts and again when one gets off.”

No; that sort of thing will not do at all; for the horse—­besides having been placed in a position more aristocratic than ever, through the philanthropies of Henry Ford—­is essentially “sporty.”  You must be a “sport” or you must keep away from him.  You must approach him with dash or you must not approach him at all.  And when a young lady inquires what kind of horse you like, there is but one way to reply.

“It doesn’t matter at all,” I answered.  “Any horse will do for me.”  Then, after a little pause, I added, as though it were merely an amusing afterthought:  “I suppose I shall be stiff after my ride.  I haven’t been on a horse in nearly two months.”

“Then,” said the sympathetic young lady, “you’ll want an easy ride.”

“I suppose it might be more sensible,” I conceded.

“Better give him the black mare,” put in the Efficient Sister.

“She hasn’t been out lately,” said the other.  “You know how she acts when she hasn’t been ridden enough.  He might not know just how to take her.  I was thinking of giving him ‘Dr. Bell.’”

“Dr. Bell’s too gentle,” said the Efficient Sister.

“Which horse do you think you’d like?” the other asked me.  “Dr. Bell has plenty of life, but he’s gentle.  The black mare’s a little bit flighty at first, but if you can ride her she soon finds it out and settles down.”

I want to ask:  “What happens if she finds out that you can’t ride her?  What does she do then?” But I refrained.

“She’s never thrown anybody but a stable boy and a man who came up here to visit—­and neither one of them could ride worth a cent,” said the Efficient Sister.

Meanwhile I had been thinking hard.

“What color is Dr. Bell?” I asked.

“He’s a sorrel.”

“Then,” I said, “I believe I’d rather ride Dr. Bell.  I don’t like black horses.  It is simply one of those peculiar aversions one gets.”

They seemed to accept this statement, and so the matter was agreeably settled.

When, at ten o’clock, I came down dressed for riding, my companion was out in front of the house, making a drawing; the four young ladies were with him, all seemingly enchanted with his work, and none of them in riding habits.

“Who’s going with me?” I asked as I strolled toward them.

They looked at one another inquiringly.  Then the Efficient Sister said:  “I’d like to go, but this is pay day and I can’t leave the place.”

“I have to go to town for some supplies,” said the Domestic Sister.

“I want to stay and watch this,” said the Sociological and Artistic Sister. (She made a gesture toward my companion, but I think she referred to his drawing.)