He's a
regular family hoss in a crowd."
Two stable-boys now climbed the track fence and came toward us rather
hastily.
"Been on a vacation?" was Blister's greeting to them.
"Playin' seven-up 'n' tried to finish the game," one of them explained
as they started with buckets for the pump.
"That's good. It don't matter whether these hosses get watered, just
so you swipes enjoy yourselves," Blister commented.
I watched languidly while the buckets were filled and brought to the
horses, until this process reached the barred stall. Then I became
interested. One of the boys approached the stall with a bucket in one
hand and a pitchfork held near the pronged end in the other. He swung
open the lower door and whacked the fork handle back and forth inside,
yelling harsh commands in the meantime. He succeeded in getting the
bucket where the horse could drink, but the pitchfork was seized and
twisted and the boy had difficulty in wrenching it away. It was all he
could do to regain possession of it.
"Little pink toes is feelin' like his ole sweet self again," said
Blister. "I been worried about him--he's seemed so pie-faced here
lately."
"Don't worry none about him," said the boy who had watered The Big
Train. "Mama's lamb ain't forgot his cute ways." Then he addressed
the other boy. "Say, Chic, you snored somethin' fierce last night!
Why don't you sleep in here with Bright Eyes, so's not to disturb me?"
"Would, only I might thrash around in my sleep 'n' hurt him," promptly
replied the other boy.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180