The Black Stallion

George returned slowly. "I guess I understand pretty well how Jimmy Creech feels."
    The boy shifted uneasily upon his feet, his eyes leaving George for the semi-darkness of the shed's interior. Finally he walked inside, coming to a stop directly beneath the bared light bulb just within the door. He twisted the bulb almost savagely, extinguishing the light; then, turning, he slid the shed doors wide open, allowing the sun to penetrate the gloom. "It's like a morgue in here," he shouted angrily to George Snedecker. "It's almost summer. Remember?"
    "Sure," George mumbled. "It's almost summer."
    The boy walked into the tack room, his eyes gleaming, his steps hurried. He took a quick look at the worn harness, then went to the two windows, opening them wide. Leaving the room, he hurried down the shed, passing the empty box stalls. When he came to the door at the opposite end he pushed heavily against it until, creaking, it too slid open, and the morning light flooded the shed.
    For a moment the boy stood in the doorway, staring at the track before him. Two trotters swept by, the wheels of their training carts gleaming in the sun. Then Jimmy Creech went by with Symbol, and tears welled in the boy's eyes at the sight of Jimmy's thin huddled figure in the seat. "Why don't you take off that muffler and that silly cap, Jimmy?" he muttered angrily. "Why don't you look up at the sun? Let it get at you, Jimmy. That's what you need."
    Then abruptly, Tom turned and walked toward a box stall on his left. Opening the door, he went inside, and his eyes and voice were soft as he said, "Hello, Beautiful."
    The heavy-bellied bay mare came to him, shoving her soft muzzle against his chest. And as his hand followed the white blaze that ran from her forehead to her nostrils, she sought the pockets of his sweater for what she knew would be there. He let her pull the carrot from his pocket, then took it from her again, breaking it into small pieces and feeding them to her one at a time. "And chew them well, Queen," he said. "You have to be careful about everything you eat and everything you do now. It won't be so very long before your foal comes."
    Then the boy stopped talking and looked at the docile head before him. He raised his hand to touch her again, hesitated, then threw his arms about her neck, burying his head in her long black mane.
    When Jimmy Creech brought Symbol back from his workout, he found Tom in the Queen's stall. For several minutes he stared at Tom's turned back without the boy's knowing it, then moved on.
    George Snedecker had the cooling blanket on Symbol and was walking him alongside the shed when Jimmy joined him.
    "Tom's taking it pretty hard," Jimmy said quietly.
    George nodded but continued walking Symbol.
    Jimmy fell in beside him. "I never should have let him hang around so much," Jimmy said. "That's what I get for taking an interest in the kid."
    George looked at him but still said nothing.
    "Have you seen that guy from Hanover Farms yet?" Jimmy asked. "He said he'd be around at
eight o'clock
."
    "I saw his car up the row. He might be in one of the other sheds." George paused. "Why don't you go up and see? Let's sell the mare if we're going to," he added sullenly.
    Jimmy looked at him. "What's ailing you?"
    George Snedecker made no reply.
    "Has the kid got to you, too?" Jimmy asked bitterly. "I suppose you think I'm a heel too. Whose mare is she, anyway? And who has to foot the bills around here?"
    "Your mare. You foot the bills," George said brusquely.
    They walked for a while before Jimmy spoke again. "That's what I get for playing nursemaid to a kid. I should have sent him on his way when he first came around."
    "But you didn't," George said quietly, turning Symbol around. "You let him stay and you talked horse to him by the hour. You wanted it that way. For some reason you wanted it that way."
    Jimmy Creech said nothing, but George heard his footsteps and knew he was following him.
    "Find that guy from Butler and sell the mare," George said again. "They don't get a chance every day to buy a _ broodmare like the Queen. An' like you said, she's yours. I don't care what you do with her. I only work for you. And what do you care how the kid feels? He's nothing but one of the hundreds running around towns like Coronet. He'll forget all about the Queen in a week. Maybe he'll forget all about horses, too—forget everything you ever told him. He's nothing but a skinny, overgrown high-school kid who ought to be