The Black Stallion

horses came to the starting line, and the starter yelled, "GO!"
    But just before the starter's cry sent them off, Bonfire touched the metal barrier with his nose. The gate's vibrations swept back through the colt's body; Bonfire threw back his head, breaking the check rein, and then stopped short.
    Tom was thrown against Bonfire's hindquarters, but he regained his seat and sought to calm the colt. Bonfire responded when he heard Tom's voice, and the boy let him go again. But Tom made no attempt to catch up with the field, for by this time they were halfway around the track, and it would be better to save the colt's energy for the next heat.
    He jogged Bonfire around the outside of the track, then took him back to the stables.
    "I was afraid of this," George said, leading the colt. "Just as Jimmy says," he added angrily, "these new-fangled contraptions!"
    "I shouldn't have kept him so close to the gate," Tom said, rubbing Bonfire's neck while he walked beside-him. "Not his first time before it. I should've known better. I was just so busy thinking about getting away fast."
    "We'll get them next heat," George said. "Take that one and the third an' the race is ours."
    "I hope so," Tom returned. "I hope our luck doesn't change. It's been good so far."
    "Not with that colt it won't," George said. "Not with him."
    But while they awaited the racing of the second heat, it seemed to George as well as to Tom that their luck had changed—for the worse. The bad news came in a letter from Dr. Morton which the race secretary handed to them. Tom and George read it together.
    Dear George,
    I've decided that it'll be best for Jimmy if we move him to a Pittsburgh hospital. I can't understand why his condition hasn't improved more than it has during the last few months, and I want to have him where I can watch him more closely and have all the facilities for any treatment that may be necessary. It may be that complications have set in, and I'll certainly keep in touch with you. I'd like to caution you about something. I know you've been sending Jimmy clippings from magazines of the various fairs at which you've raced. It does Jimmy a lot of good, I know, to see Bonfire's name listed as the winner in these race results. But I must warn you to note carefully what is printed on the back of any clippings you send in the future.
    A month or so ago, Jimmy read on the back of one you'd sent that Miss Elsie Topper had left the Ohio fairs and was racing her black filly, Princess Guy, at Maywood Park, the night raceway just outside of Chicago.
    I don't have to tell you how Jimmy feels about the night raceways. He bellowed for days that Miss Elsie had betrayed him, and I had all I could do to quiet him down. So please be more careful in the future.
    Sincerely,
    Henry Morton, M.D.
    They finished reading the letter together, and Tom said, "I guess I did it."
    "Maybe I sent it," George returned gravely. "I don't know. I'm worried about him, Tom."
    "Do you think we should go back, George?"
    "No, I don't, Tom. We can do more good for him here. He'll worry more than ever now with hospital bills to pay."
    "Jimmy should've realized we were disappointed in Miss Elsie's going to the raceways, too," Tom said.
    "He probably did," George said, rising from his chair. "But that didn't help any. Let's get Bonfire ready. You and him have got work to do." Then he stopped and turned to Tom. "Jimmy oughta quit knockin' himself out worrying about other people. It's Miss Elsie's life an' she can go an' race nights if she wants to." Shaking his bald head, George walked into Bonfire's stall.
    Tom followed George into the stall and pulled off the colt's blanket. "I just got to thinking about that clipping of our winning the race at the Port Royal Fair. The one you're going to send Jimmy."
    George removed his hands from Bonfire to take out his wallet. The clipping was there; a complete page of race summaries. He unfolded it and turned it over to read the back.
    A full-page advertisment met their eyes, an advertisement showing a man wearing a white shirt. The headline read: "announcing the silver knight shirt." The advertising copy beneath it went on to say: "The Phillip Cox Company takes great pleasure in naming its newest shirt creation after silver knight, the top two-year-old colt of the year. And like silver knight our new shirt is outstanding in every way! It has the same racy lines… the same smoothness and beauty! And don't forget it's designed by amateur