The Black Stallion

interests of the colt and spent their time building up his stamina and staying power. Bonfire thrived on the work. His body became very strong and hard, his legs even more developed.
    Occasionally, perhaps once a week, Jimmy let Tom sprint the colt for very short distances of no more than two hundred yards. Tom opened him up only a little, but each time the effect upon the boy was that he was being picked up and hurled forward by some unseen force from behind; yet he knew this power and fairly dizzy speed was directly ahead of him.
    Jimmy said, "He's got more sprinting snap than any horse I've ever seen. If he can carry it through he'll be unbeatable."
    During these weeks Jimmy spent as much time schooling Tom on driving technique as he did with the colt.
    "You got the hands. We know that, Tom," he said. "An' you got strong arms and a good back. They're natural gifts and more important to you than you realize now."
    "He's got the head, too," George interrupted, chewing thoughtfully on his tobacco while listening to Jimmy.
    "Yeah," Jimmy agreed, "as George says, you got the brains and understand horses. The colt, for example, senses how you feel about him. He has complete confidence in you. He'll make any move you want him to—"
    "Tom's got an even temper. Never gets excited," George interrupted again. "That's important, too, for any driver to have. Jimmy knows that."
    Jimmy looked at George, but his friend's gaze was turned away. "Yes," Jimmy said, "George is right. You got to keep cool in a race. That way your judgment is better and you think faster when you get in a tight spot. Knowing how to handle yourself and your horse in races is an art in itself, Tom. It only comes after years and years of racing experience. But I aim to tell you all I can just in case—" Jimmy stopped talking.
    "Just in case what, Jimmy?" Tom asked with concern.
    "Just in case nothing," Jimmy said. "I only meant there's no sense takin' what I know to the grave with me." He laughed. "We all have to die someday. And like George says, 'We're old fogies.' So I just plan to start telling you what I know now. As I said, it'll take a long time anyway, Tom."
    And that's the way Jimmy Creech had left it. Tom thought from what Jimmy had said about dying that maybe he was feeling worse. But in the weeks that followed Jimmy looked better than ever and had only one bad attack. It happened early in November, after Jimmy read the story of the Yearling Fall Sales held at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
    His face became livid with rage, and he threw the copy of
Hoof Beats
hard against the table of the tack room.
    "Forty-eight thousand dollars for a yearling!" he bellowed, walking up and down the room. "Where do they get that kind of money?"
    George tried to quiet him, but Jimmy pushed him out of the way; then he picked up the magazine.
    "Listen to this, Tom," he shouted, his voice shaking in his fury. " 'An all-time record for the Harrisburg sales was set when the gray colt Silver Knight was sold at auction for forty-eight thousand dollars. Spirited bidding lasting more than two hours ended with the successful bid of Phillip Cox, wealthy Pittsburgh clothing manufacturer.' "
    Jimmy stopped reading and turned savagely to the boy. "You think Phillip Cox bought that colt, Tom? Well, he didn't! The Phillip Cox Clothing Company bought Silver Knight!"
    George said quietly, "But maybe this Phillip Cox likes horses."
    Jimmy paid no attention to him. "This guy Cox knows nothing about horses, Tom," he went on shouting, "and maybe he likes 'em less. Silver Knight will be expected to publicize the Cox Clothing Company. I can just see the company name on his blanket every time he sets a hoof near where people are watching. He'll just be another name on the company payroll—publicity, advertising, that's all it amounts to! Just like last year the Cox Clothing Company had a group of midget auto racers and the year before racing motor boats. I read about all
of
them! I know! And now this year it's horses. But we won't see 'em at the fairs, Tom. Don't worry about that! The Cox Clothing Company will race its horses at the night raceways where there are lots more people to see its name… and where they'll get a lot more publicity. Big business, that's harness racing today, Tom. Everybody, just
everybody
, is climbing aboard!" Only then did Jimmy's voice soften as he sat down wearily in his chair. "And it might be the end of a grand, wonderful sport, Tom; it might, if we can't