The Black Stallion

the bumpy road leading to the farm, Tom stuck his head out the window of the car, watching for the Queen in the pasture.
    It was dark and he couldn't see her; but she neighed repeatedly at the sound of the car. When Uncle Wilmer stopped at the gate, Tom ran to the pasture fence and whistled. From far down in the pasture came the sound of hoofs and he knew the Queen was on her way to him.
    "You men stay with the mare," Aunt Emma said. "I just need to warm things up on the stove. I got everything ready."
    Tom heard the Queen jump over the small stream that cut the center of the pasture; then she was coming up the slight slope leading up from the stream. Tom heard her grunt as she plunged over the crest of the embankment; then he saw her, the white blaze that split her dark face standing out in the darkness. He ran forward to meet her, and George and Uncle Wilmer left him alone with the Queen.
    An hour later they sat down to another of Aunt Emma's sumptuous meals, and ate hungrily and long. When it was over and the dishes were done, Aunt Emma left the men alone. "You'll be talkin' horses," she said. "And I've seen enough of them for one day."
    Uncle Wilmer scratched the top of his egg-shaped head. "You heard any more about Jimmy?" he asked.
    Tom shook his head, then said, "Not since he went to the hospital."
    "The doc said he'd let us know as soon as they found out anything," George added. "I'm afraid he's really sick this time, Wilmer."
    "I believe it," Uncle Wilmer said soberly.
    They were quiet a long while, then Uncle Wilmer asked, "Why are you waitin' until Friday to race the colt? Why you doin' that if you need money to pay Jimmy's hospital bills?"
    "It's a classified race—the only one we can get Bonfire in," George shouted.
    "How much money will he win?" Uncle Wilmer asked.
    "Three hundred and twenty-five dollars,
if
he wins," George replied.
    "He'll win, all right," Uncle Wilmer said. "Ain't so much money, though, when y'got hospital bills."
    "We know that," Tom said.
    Uncle Wilmer turned to the boy, looked at him for a while, then rose to go to the corner cupboard; on top of a pile of copies of
Hoof Beats
was a list of activities at the Reading Fair, and he brought this back to the table.
    "Why don't you put the colt in this race for two-year-olds on Wednesday? That's a good purse, all right, eighteen hundred dollars." Uncle Wilmer stopped talking to figure to himself, then added, "That'd be nine hundred dollars, when you won it. That kind of money would be a big help to Jimmy, all right."
    "It would," George agreed. "But that race is a Futurity."
    "Heh?" Uncle Wilmer cupped his ear.
    Tom was closer to him, so he said, "George says that two-year-old race on Wednesday is a Futurity. That means every colt racing in it was nominated for the race even before he was foaled. The owners nominated the foal that was to come of their mares. Jimmy didn't do that."
    "And it cost money to nominate the foal," George added, shouting. "Then you have to keep your colt eligible for the Futurity by paying more payments right along until he becomes a two-year-old and goes in the race. Jimmy didn't have that kind of money!"
    Uncle Wilmer nodded his head understandingly. "Too bad," he said. "The colt would win, all right. There's only one top colt in that race he'd have to beat, from what I read." Reaching for the local newspaper, he drew it toward him and adjusted his glasses. "Yep, here it is," he added. "The colt I meant is a filly. Princess Guy, they call her. Says here that she's owned and driven by Miss Elsie Topper." He looked up from the newspaper. "That must be the Princess Guy I been reading so much about in
Hoof Beats
." Turning to the paper once more, he nodded. "Yep, it must be, all right, because it says here Princess Guy raced at Ohio fairs and the Maywood Park Raceway in Chicago an' never was beaten. She has a record of two o four which makes her the favorite, easy."
    At the surprising news of Miss Elsie's coming to Reading, Tom and George looked at each other in astonishment, but neither said a word.
    Tuesday morning Tom was bringing Bonfire off the track from his early workout when he saw two large and very impressive horse vans come to a stop before the stables. The lettering on their sides told him they had come from Roosevelt Raceway, Westbury, Long Island, New York.
    George said, "Here they come, up for some sun to race in the Futurity tomorrow."
    As they removed Bonfire's harness and sponged his sweated