The Black Stallion

rest, strict medical treatment, and freedom from worry of all kind could he be helped; if Jimmy didn't follow instructions the ulcer would get worse.
    The practical nurse Dr. Morton sent came to live in Jimmy's small, white-frame house on the outskirts of Coronet. If Jimmy wondered where they'd get the money to pay for her services, he never asked. He only sought relief from the severe and frequent pains that racked his stomach and twisted his face in agony. It wasn't until early spring that any great amount of relief came to him. It was only then that he asked about the blood bay colt.
    Tom's eyes turned from the racing pictures, which were the only things that relieved the bareness of the walls of Jimmy's bachelor quarters, to look at the small, flat body beneath the bedsheets.
    "Bonfire's a natural, Jimmy," the boy said. "He has all the speed we expected from him. I brushed him a quarter in thirty-three seconds this morning."
    George moved across the room to Jimmy's bedside. "But Tom held him in all the way," he said. "We never let him go faster than that 'cause we didn't think you'd want us to."
    "No," Jimmy said in a weak voice, "that's fast enough for him now. I don't want to rush him. Let the speed come to him. Don't force him. It'll come."
    "I've brushed him up to a half-mile, too," Tom said, "but without pushing him. Then I hold him down for the last half. But he wants to go, Jimmy," he added eagerly. "He really does."
    "That's good, Tom," Jimmy said, his eyes lightening a little. "He knows what it's all about. He's got the will to win. And that's what I was hoping for when I bred the Queen to the Black. The Queen didn't have that. The Black gave it to the colt." He paused for a moment, resting. The nurse, a small gray-haired woman, stood near the door and watched Jimmy with concern. But Jimmy wasn't through talking.
    "Keep the colt down, Tom," he said. "Remember that… no rushing him. Go along just as you have." Jimmy turned his head toward the doorway. "Mrs. Davis, leave us alone for a moment, please."
    The nurse nodded; but her eyes pleaded with George and Tom not to stay too long.
    Jimmy waited until the door closed behind Mrs. Davis. "Where's the money coming from to pay her?" he asked.
    "We got it," George said quickly. "Don't worry about it. I'm the business end of this outfit." He smiled for Jimmy's benefit. "She doesn't charge much. She needed a home, an' you're givin' her that."
    "But—" Jimmy began, only to be silenced by Tom.
    "When you put all our money together, it makes more than you think," the boy said. "As George said, there's nothing to worry about."
    "But how long will it last?" Jimmy asked, his sunken eyes upon them. "How can we manage to race the colt, to pay for feed, equipment, even gas for the van?"
    "I've fixed up the sulky and all the harness, everything," George said. "We don't need to buy a thing. It's all like new."
    "And the colt will make money for us, Jimmy," Tom said. "Once he gets going everything will be all right."
    "I hope so, Tom," Jimmy smiled weakly; then he closed his eyes and they thought he was asleep until he said, "It's been a long time, a very long time… since I had a good one."
    Leaning over him, George said, "You'll be driving him, Jimmy. The doc said you're getting better fast. Just do everything he says an' don't worry about a thing. Then you'll be up behind the colt soon."
    "Sure, George," Jimmy mumbled; but he didn't open his eyes.
    George lifted his bald head away from Jimmy. When he and Tom left the room there were tears in their eyes.
    As usual, early the next morning before school, Tom had Bonfire out on the track. The sun felt good on his back and he knew the red colt liked it too, for Bonfire neighed repeatedly while Tom jogged him the wrong way around the track, loosening him up.
    Through the lines he talked to his colt, telling him to bide his time.
That's the way Jimmy wants it
, he told him.
Get your legs and body so strong and hard that no racing will ever bother them. Let the speed come slow and easy, Bonfire. We have time… all the time in the world
.
    But each time Tom jogged Bonfire past the shed which Phillip Cox and his high-priced yearling had occupied, he said to himself, "It's not fair… somehow it isn't fair." And for the first time he felt the embitterment that Jimmy Creech had lived with so very long.
    "Jimmy doesn't have all the time in the world at all," he told the colt. "You and I have time, but he doesn't. We've got to