"You had no biz'nuss to give it to him," said Penrod. "Anybody
with any sense ought to know it'd make him sick. What'd you want
to go and give it to him for?"
"Well, you didn't say not to."
"Well, what if I didn't? I never said I did, did I? You go on in
that stall and take it away from him."
"YES, I will!" Sam returned bitterly. Then, as Whitey had dragged
the remains of the branch from the manger to the floor of the
stall, Sam scrambled to the top of the manger and looked over.
"There ain't much left to TAKE away! He's swallered it all except
some splinters. Better give him the water to try and wash it down
with." And, as Penrod complied, "My gracious, look at that horse
DRINK!"
They gave Whitey four buckets of water, and then debated the
question of nourishment. Obviously, this horse could not be
trusted with branches, and, after getting their knees black and
their backs sodden, they gave up trying to pull enough grass to
sustain him. Then Penrod remembered that horses like apples, both
"cooking-apples" and "eating-apples", and Sam mentioned the fact
that every autumn his father received a barrel of
"cooking-apples" from a cousin who owned a farm.
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