“Well,” said Penrod, “we might get more and we might get less.” This time, however, he felt the need of adding something. He put a question in an indulgent tone, as though he were inquiring, not to add to his own information but to discover the extent of Sam's. “How much do you think horses are worth, anyway?” “I don't know,” Sam said frankly, and, unconsciously, he added, “They might be more and they might be less.” “Well, when our ole horse died,” Penrod said, “Papa said he wouldn't taken five hunderd dollars for him. That's how much HORSES are worth!” “My gracious!” Sam exclaimed. Then he had a practical afterthought. “But maybe he was a better horse than this'n. What colour was he?” “He was bay. Looky here, Sam”--and now Penrod's manner changed from the superior to the eager--“you look what kind of horses they have in a circus, and you bet a circus has the BEST horses, don't it? Well, what kind of horses do they have in a circus? They have some black and white ones; but the best they have are white all over. Well, what kind of a horse is this we got here? He's perty near white right now, and I bet if we washed him off and got him fixed up nice he WOULD be white. Well, a bay horse is worth five hunderd dollars, because that's what Papa said, and this horse--” Sam interrupted rather timidly. “He--he's awful bony, Penrod. You don't guess they'd make any--” Penrod laughed contemptuously. “Bony! All he needs is a little food and he'll fill right up and look good as ever. You don't know much about horses, Sam, I expect. Why, OUR ole horse--” “Do you expect he's hungry now?” asked Sam, staring at Whitey. “Let's try him,” said Penrod. “Horses like hay and oats the best; but they'll eat most anything.” “I guess they will. He's tryin' to eat that manger up right now, and I bet it ain't good for him.” “Come on,” said Penrod, closing the door that gave entrance to the stalls. “We got to get this horse some drinkin'-water and some good food.” They tried Whitey's appetite first with an autumnal branch that they wrenched from a hardy maple in the yard. They had seen horses nibble leaves, and they expected Whitey to nibble the leaves of this branch; but his ravenous condition did not allow him time for cool discriminations. Sam poked the branch at him from the passageway, and Whitey, after one backward movement of alarm, seized it venomously. “Here! You stop that!” Sam shouted. “You stop that, you ole horse, you!” “What's the matter?” called Penrod from the hydrant, where he was filling a bucket. “What's he doin' now?” “Doin'! He's eatin' the wood part, too! He's chewin' up sticks as big as baseball bats! He's crazy!” Penrod rushed to see this sight, and stood aghast. “Take it away from him, Sam!” he commanded sharply. “Go on, take it away from him yourself!” was the prompt retort of his comrade.