The Black Stallion
mare to the Black, too," he told Tom. "The outcross to his Arabian blood might really do something for this colt."
That had been Jimmy Creech's idea, Tom could have told him. But he didn't, for he had learned that the less he mentioned Jimmy's name to his uncle, the easier it was to get along with him.
Letters came frequently from Jimmy and George Snedecker. After leaving the Bedford Fair, they had gone on to Butler, Ebensburg, back to Carlisle, and then on to the Lebanon, Youngstown and Mercer fairs. Jimmy finished in the money at most of the fairs, but he never brought Symbol home to win. There were several pictures of him in the latest issue of
Hoof Beats
, and Uncle Wilmer studied them critically.
"He's gettin' on," Uncle Wilmer said in a surprised tone. "Must be my age, all right."
"So are a good many of the others," Tom said. "Some of the best drivers are old men."
"Not
old men,'"
Uncle Wilmer answered a little fiercely. "Just gettin' on. We can keep up with any of the young'uns, all right."
From that day, it seemed to Tom that Uncle Wilmer's attitude toward Jimmy Creech changed considerably. Once he even went so far as to claim that Jimmy Creech was "responsible for the good looks of the colt. It was him who bred the mare to the Black. He knew what he was doin', all right."
The first week of September approached and with it came the fair at Reading, just fourteen miles from the farm. Tom listened to his uncle and aunt discuss the many reasons why they couldn't afford to go this year; yet he knew that nothing would keep them from attending it. They hadn't missed one in the past forty-three years; Uncle Wilmer had told him that much. And Tom knew too of Aunt Emma's crock of mincemeat that had been standing for three months in the cellar. Aunt Emma was famous for her mincemeat pies, and certainly she would have one in the pie-judging contest this year as in previous years. The entry applications had arrived a week ago, and they had been signed and returned by Aunt Emma. Tom knew that, even if Uncle Wilmer didn't. And Aunt Emma's pie wouldn't be at the fair without Aunt Emma.
Monday was the first day of the fair and Aunt Emma and Uncle Wilmer were very definite about not going this year. "We always spend too much money," Aunt Emma said. "And when you've seen one fair you've seen them all."
Uncle Wilmer nodded his egg-shaped head in agreement.
On Tuesday, Aunt Emma went down to the cellar to taste her mincemeat. Returning to the kitchen, she looked for the program of activities at the fair which had come in the mail. She found it on the porch in her husband's hand. He was telling Tom, "Looks like they'll have some good races on Wednesday and Thursday, all right."
Aunt Emma took the program from him, read it quickly, then said quietly, "Thursday is pie-judging day."
"Heh?" Uncle Wilmer cupped his ear.
"Thursday," Tom shouted for his aunt. "It's the day they judge pies."
Uncle Wilmer took back the program, studied it, then said, "Thursday's races are better'n Wednesday's."
"I just might have some mincemeat down cellar," Aunt Emma said. "Wouldn't do no harm to try to—"
"Heh?"
But Aunt Emma said nothing, and Tom knew there was no need to tell his uncle about the mincemeat in the cellar.
"We really shouldn't go," Aunt Emma said loudly to her husband.
"Darn right," he returned. "We saw it last year—" He stopped suddenly, his head turning in Tom's direction.
And then the boy was conscious too of Aunt Emma's gaze upon him.
"But Tom didn't see it last year," Uncle Wilmer said.
"No, he didn't," Aunt Emma said, nodding her head in agreement.
"We oughta go for him. That's what we oughta do, all right."
"We certainly should," Aunt Emma said. '"Specially since he'll be goin' home soon. He ought to see the fair before he goes home."
The smile left Uncle Wilmer's face. "Tom goin' home? When?" He turned to the boy.
"Jimmy said he'd pick the mare and colt up soon now. I'm going back with him. I have to be back at school in two weeks," Tom said.
"I hadn't thought of your goin' yet," Uncle Wilmer said quietly. "Seems you only jus' got here."
Aunt Emma turned upon her husband. "What have you been thinkin' about, Wilmer! You know well enough he has to go to school!"
"Sure, I know it!" Uncle Wilmer returned defiantly. But then his gaze fell. "I guess the summer's just about gone, all right. I guess it is. That always comes with the fair, too."
"Time goes awfully fast," Tom said. "It seems to me I just
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