"A few miles' stiff gallop'll be all I want." He jerked Dexter's head up, snapped the reins on his neck, and addressed him in genial, comradely but authoritative tones.
"Git up there, old hoss!" Dexter lowered his head again and remained as if posing conscientiously for the statue of a tired horse.
"Giddap, there, you old skate!" again ordered the rider.
The comradely unction was gone from his voice and the bony neck received a smarter wallop with the reins.

Dexter stood unmoved.

He seemed to be fearing that the worst was now coming, and that he might as well face it on that spot as elsewhere.

He remained deaf to threats and entreaties alike.

No hoof moved from its resting place.
"Giddap, there, you old Dexter Gashwiler!" ordered Metta, and was not rebuked.