The Black Stallion

young bunny, then one morning you wake up and it's hit you right smack in every bone and muscle in your body. Like it did with me some years ago. And like it's doing to Jimmy now. And when that happens you find you don't start figuring too far ahead any longer." George leaned back in his chair. "Yep, I know what Jimmy means when he says he don't want to wait two years for the Queen's colt to come along."
    Shaking his head, the boy said, "But all winter long Jimmy felt good. I know he did. He'd talk about this foal of the Queen's for hours at a time, telling me the colt was going to be the one he'd always wanted. You heard him, George. And you know our plans. He was going to send the Queen up to my uncle's farm, where she was going to have her foal. And I was going to take care of them both this summer while you and Jimmy were at the fair tracks racing Symbol. It was just the setup he wanted for them. Uncle Wilmer has plenty of pasture, everything the Queen and her foal could want during the summer. I don't understand why—"
    "You got to be older to understand, Tom," George said slowly. "And Jimmy started changing last summer at the races. He started feeling old then, but he never admitted it. But I saw he was more careful in his driving, never taking any chances of a spill. And before that they never came any nervier, any better than Jimmy Creech. He became very critical of the driving of other men, too. And he got crabby and, I thought, a little bitter. It was old age creeping up, but Jimmy didn't know it. He's stuck to harness racing for near forty years because he loves the sport and the horses. And that's what made him great. But it's different with him now. It's like he's sore because he's suddenly discovered he's getting old and he wants to take it out on everybody."
    George paused and took off his soiled cap, exposing his bald head to the rays of the sun that had broken through the overcast sky. "When you came along this last winter," he went on, "and Jimmy took such a liking to you, I thought maybe he was coming out of it. He liked the interest you took in the horses, although you didn't know a trot from a pace at the time. But you asked a lot of questions, and Jimmy liked that. He enjoyed talking to you and you were a good listener. Maybe he saw himself as a kid in you. I don't know. But he lived in Coronet, too, when he was about your age, an' he used to come out here on Saturdays, just hanging around, same as you do."
    George stopped again, chewing his tobacco thoughtfully. "I heard Jimmy talk about sending the Queen to your uncle's farm when you told him you were going to be there for the summer. I knew then how much Jimmy liked you or he wouldn't be trusting you with the Queen like that. An' I liked the way you had perked Jimmy up and I thought everything was going to be all right again. But week before last Jimmy had a couple of bad nights. I guess he must have been really sick, because he showed up here looking pretty awful. I guess I knew then that this was the beginning of the end for Jimmy Creech, professional reinsman.
    "A few days later this guy from Hanover Farms comes around looking for broodmares and he sees the Queen. And he asks Jimmy how about selling her. He'd asked Jimmy that same question for the last three years, but Jimmy never even listened to him. But this time it was different. I hear Jimmy say quick-like, 'Sure, if you give me my price.' And that wasn't like Jimmy. Not in the 'most fifty years I've known him has he ever put a price on any horse he loves— and he sure loves the Queen. He lost mighty few races with the Queen."
    "If he really loved her he wouldn't sell her," the boy said bitterly. "Why's he doing it, George?"
    "He's asked a good stiff price, Tom. And with the money he can buy another horse to race this summer—maybe even two or three more."
    "He's got Symbol to race," the boy said quickly.
    "Symbol is too old jus' like Jimmy and me," George muttered. "He oughtn't to be racing any more. Jimmy picked him up at the sales a couple of years ago. He was the only horse Jimmy could afford to buy. Jimmy doesn't have much money any more. He's just hanging on… that's all Jimmy's doin'." The old man paused to spit tobacco juice in the pail which he used as a spittoon. "So I guess Jimmy wants enough money to buy a good racehorse now. It's like he wasn't figuring on having many more years and he wants to do this one up big."
    "I still don't understand," the boy said.
    "I do,"