Horses Nine | Page 4

him. Skipper
learned that he was still only six years old, and that he had been owned
as a saddle-horse by a lady who was about to sail for Europe and was
closing out her stable. This was news to Skipper. He wished Reddy
could hear it.
The man talked very nicely about Skipper. He said he was kind, gentle,
sound in wind and limb, and was not only trained to the saddle but
would work either single or double. The man wanted to know how
much the gentlemen were willing to pay for a bay gelding of this
description.
Someone on the outer edge of the crowd said, "Ten dollars."
At this the man on the box grew quite indignant. He asked if the other
man wouldn't like a silver-mounted harness and a lap-robe thrown in.
"Fifteen," said another man.
Somebody else said "Twenty," another man said, "Twenty-five," and
still another, "Thirty." Then there was a hitch. The man on the box
began to talk very fast indeed:

"Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--do I hear the five?
Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--will you make it five?"
"Thirty-five," said a red-faced man who had pushed his way to the front
and was looking Skipper over sharply.
The man on the box said "Thutty-five" a good many times and asked if
he "heard forty." Evidently he did not, for he stopped and said very
slowly and distinctly, looking expectantly around: "Are you all done?
Thirty-five--once. Thirty-five--twice. Third--and last call--sold, for
thirty-five dollars!"
When Skipper heard this he hung his head. When you have been a $250
blue-ribboner and the pride of the force it is sad to be "knocked down"
for thirty-five.
The next year of Skipper's life was a dark one. We will not linger over
it. The red-faced man who led him away was a grocer. He put Skipper
in the shafts of a heavy wagon very early every morning and drove him
a long ways through the city to a big down-town market where men in
long frocks shouted and handled boxes and barrels. When the wagon
was heavily loaded the red-faced man drove him back to the store.
Then a tow-haired boy, who jerked viciously on the lines and was fond
of using the whip, drove him recklessly about the streets and avenues.
But one day the tow-haired boy pulled the near rein too hard while
rounding a corner and a wheel was smashed against a lamp-post. The
tow-haired boy was sent head first into an ash-barrel, and Skipper,
rather startled at the occurrence, took a little run down the avenue,
strewing the pavement with eggs, sugar, canned corn, celery, and other
assorted groceries.
Perhaps this was why the grocer sold him. Skipper pulled a cart
through the flat-house district for a while after that. On the seat of the
cart sat a leather-lunged man who roared: "A-a-a-a-puls! Nice
a-a-a-a-puls! A who-o-ole lot fer a quarter!"
Skipper felt this disgrace keenly. Even the cab-horses, on whom he

used to look with disdain, eyed him scornfully. Skipper stood it as long
as possible and then one day, while the apple fakir was standing on the
back step of the cart shouting things at a woman who was leaning half
way out of a fourth-story window, he bolted. He distributed that load of
apples over four blocks, much to the profit of the street children, and he
wrecked the wagon on a hydrant. For this the fakir beat him with a
piece of the wreckage until a blue-coated officer threatened to arrest
him. Next day Skipper was sold again.
Skipper looked over his new owner without joy. The man was evil of
face. His long whiskers and hair were unkempt and sun-bleached, like
the tip end of a pastured cow's tail. His clothes were greasy. His voice
was like the grunt of a pig. Skipper wondered to what use this man
would put him. He feared the worst.
Far up through the city the man took him and out on a broad avenue
where there were many open spaces, most of them fenced in by huge
bill-boards. Behind one of these sign-plastered barriers Skipper found
his new home. The bottom of the lot was more than twenty feet below
the street-level. In the centre of a waste of rocks, ash-heaps, and dead
weeds tottered a group of shanties, strangely made of odds and ends.
The walls were partly of mud-chinked rocks and partly of wood. The
roofs were patched with strips of rusty tin held in place by stones.
Into one of these shanties, just tall enough for Skipper to enter and no
more, the horse that had been the pride of the mounted park police was
driven with a kick as a greeting. Skipper noted first that there was no
feed-box and no hayrack. Then he saw, or