Bobby Scott felt his importance, for the reason that he and the Senator were entertained at Hill-Top. He felt that he was in a position of vantage and really ought to profit by it. But the ease and sang-froid with which Tom Radwine always relieved him of Caroline was not only exasperating but rather confusing to him. Why couldn’t Tom look out for Dorothy? She was not his sister; and, beside, she was no end better looking than Caroline. Here came Tom now, straight past the other young women, to disturb his _tête-à-tête_ with Caroline. "Come on, Mr. Scott," called Helen, "we’ll go and have a ride." Bobby pretended not to hear. Helen’s assumption that he must vacate when Radwine appeared nettled him. He liked Helen in everything save that she would not take him seriously. He sat still, determined to hold his position against all comers. "I’ve won in a walk," said Radwine to the young woman. "It’s ten minutes yet to five o’clock—good afternoon, Mr. Scott—oh, I am all sorts of a winner." Caroline’s answer to Radwine was just as meaningless to Bobby, and in half a minute without the slightest discourtesy on the part of the others, he felt that he was a rank outsider. "Are you coming, Mr. Scott?" Helen called to him again—and Bobby went. "If you will excuse me?"—he asked Caroline’s permission. "Certainly, if you must go. Take good care of Helen. She is so young and venturesome." This last speech in a measure placated Bobby’s offended notions of dignity, and he and Helen went off toward the stables, where Hayward brought the horses out and put the saddles on while Bobby looked them over. "That is a very handsome mount," he said to Helen, indicating Prince William. "He’s a dead match for the horse of Lieutenant Lavine, of the Squadron." "Beg pardon, sir," Hayward interrupted to ask, "what squadron?" "Squadron A, New York," Bobby replied, and began to relate to Helen some incident of his experience as a trooper in that organization, and afterward to dispense general information as to horses and horsemanship. He would not have been so garrulous about these things perhaps but for the fact that his membership in Squadron A was a new toy from which the gilt had not been worn off. Hayward listened to him, first with interest and then with wonder. He did not know the young gentleman was a very new and very raw recruit in the Squadron’s forces, and he came near dropping a saddle at some of Bobby’s ebullitions of ignorance. "This knee," said Bobby with a look of concern as he ran his hand down Prince William’s fore-leg, "seems to be slightly swollen. You should be careful to guard against spavin. It is a serious—" The negro laughed in his face before he could check himself. "Well, what is it?" demanded Bobby.