CHAPTER XVIII

WHICH TELLETH NOTHING IN PARTICULAR “The Thunderbolt,” eyes rolling, nostrils flaring, ears flattened, stamped mighty hoof, tossed lofty crest and snorted defiance. And glancing from this incarnation of malevolence, to its would-be rider, Mr. Meredith stroked his small, blonde moustache and smiled a little superciliously. “Not exactly a lady’s pet, eh, Mr. Dallas?” he inquired. “Well, no,” answered Dallas, his quick, grey eyes following the great, fierce animal’s every quivering movement, “no, not yet.” “Oho?” excl…