MISSY AND I
IT all happened after Missy and I arrived from San Francisco. I was taken to Hart’s (which, as you must know, is one of the most perfectly appointed boarding-places for horses in New York) and given a roomy box-stall toward the front of the stable. Across from me was another box, just as large and loose. In it was a stylish black gelding with docked tail and hogged mane. That was Thunderbolt.
I was very car-stiff. For though I came by express on the same train with Missy, it had taken six days. My first day at Hart’s, as she was in my stall, petting me and giving me nice bites of carrot (it was a Wednesday, Wednesday being my day for carrots), a man came down the row of stalls with Martin, the head-groom. As he turned to open Thunderbolt’s box, he looked at me—or Missy—(his look was admiring, anyway) and raised his hat. That was Thunderbolt’s master.
Missy bowed back, sweetly, but gravely, and went on feeding me.
I did not know he was Thunderbolt’s master then. But later, before Peter, one of the under-grooms, took me out for an airing (I was not fit, Missy said, to be ridden—but I noticed Peter rode me when he got me out of sight of the stable), I nickered over to Thunderbolt to ask him who his visitor was.
“That is my master,” said he, putting his head over the side of his box. “And he is one of the best masters I have ever had.”
I gave a good horse laugh at that. “Oneof the best,” I said. For I had never belonged to anyone but Missy, andIthink that a first-class animal doesn’t keep changing quarters.
Thunderbolt put back his ears. “That is what I said,” he went on, “and I’m not going to turn a hair over it, either. A change of monogram can happen toanybody.”
“Of course,” said I, taking particular pains to show mine. It was on my best dress-blanket, which Peter was putting on, and which was made to order for me in Missy’s father’s woolen mills. “But how did it happen that you—eh——”
Thunderbolt’s eyes showed a rim of white—a bad-temper sign that no thoroughbred (and no part thoroughbred) allows himself to make. “‘You’re as silly as a filly,’” he quoted. “A horse may just be off his oats a little—that was my case—or home-sick.”
“Ican understandthat.”
“Any crow-bait could. But now that I’m here——”
“Lucky nag!” said I.
“Bet your bridle!” returned Thunderbolt. “My master comes in with his pockets fairly sticking out with good things. Have you noticed?”
“No, but I will,” I promised.
And I did. The very next morning, here came Thunderbolt’s master again. I put my nose outwhen I saw him. He stopped and smoothed my neck. And, meanwhile, I found a pocket jammed with grass.
As Thunderbolt saw the grass disappear, he laid back his ears. “The Dealers take you!” he grumbled.
“Don’t get ugly,” I said. “I’ll divide my tidbits with you. To-day I’ll get an apple.”
“How do you know?” he snorted. He was careful to appear on his best behaviour, however, for his master was looking at his hoofs.
“Monday, sweet biscuit,” I began; “Tuesday, sugar; Wednesday, carrots; Thursday, an apple; Friday, cracked corn; Saturday, stale bread and molasses; Sunday, marshmallows.”
“What are marshmallows?” asked Thunderbolt. “Do they grow in a meadow?”
“They don’t,” I answered. “They come in Missy’s handkerchief. As near as I can make out, they are sweet chunks of bran mash.”
We stopped talking then, for Missy came, dressed for a canter. She didn’t see Thunderbolt’s master at first, for he was still stooping over. And after I had a bite of apple, she held out a piece to Thunderbolt.
“You pretty fellow!” she said.
At that, up popped Thunderbolt’s master. And they bowed, and said good-morning, and he pointed out Thunderbolt’s good points—deep chest and bold eye, and Missy followed with mine—tapering ears, broad forehead set with a star, and long, arched neck. So it was quite a bit before I was ready togo out. Thunderbolt’s master put Missy up and drove his trap beside us so that they could chat all the way to the Park.
“Didyou notice?” asked Thunderbolt when we were both in again and John and Peter were grooming us.
“Did I notice what?” I asked, licking my salt.
“You haven’t good horse sense,” declared Thunderbolt. “A flea-bitten screw with cockled hocks would see more.Didn’tyou notice how nice my master was to your Missy?”
I fairly pawed with delight. “Of course I noticed it,” I answered. And until the next apple-day I was careful to do my part. I nosed Thunderbolt’s master when he came in, I picked up my feet in my best style when I went out beside his trap, and I pranced. And when Missy wanted to turn me into the bridle-path, I passaged and champed.
Thunderbolt’s master and Missy spent an hour in our boxes every day. They fed us dainties and talked to each other, and he was especially kind to me, patting me a lot and praising me. And I saw—well, I can see farther than my muzzle—and I was as happy as a Grand Prix winner.
And then one day—something seemed wrong with Missy. She arrived earlier than usual, and had nothing for me. When she entered my stall, she threw her arms around my neck. “Oh, Hector! Hector!” she whispered, so sadly. And I saw she had a letter crumpled up in one hand.
When Peter took off my sheet, she stepped back and looked me over. “Youdeardarling!” she said, just as if she were going to cry. “Peter,isn’thebeautiful? I’ve had him ever since he was a colt.” And she laid her pretty cheek against me.
“Oi never seen a foiner, miss,” said Peter. “Up-headed, an’ wid a mouth that ud drive on a t’read.”
Thunderbolt’s master came in then, and when he’d said good-morning he sent Peter away for something and stepped over into my box. Missy turned away from him, and he couldn’t help but see that she wasn’t acting as usual. But I don’t believe he understood it any better than I did. For he looked puzzled, and then he raised his hat again.
“Do you know,” he said, “it’s just occurred to me that I’ve been very remiss. I’ve never even introduced myself properly to you. And I haven’t the pleasure of your name, either.”
“If people are fond of horses——” began Missy. She fell to patting my nose.
“My name is England,” went on Thunderbolt’s master, “Edward England.”
Instantly, I felt Missy’s fingers tighten, and I saw her face grow white. “England!” she said under her breath; “Edward England!”
She was standing on my off side now, and Thunderbolt’s master could not see her. “I presume it’s a name you’re not unfamiliar with,” he went on again. “But don’t mistake me for dad. He’s been manipulating wool lately, and the press keeps pretty close track of him.” And he laughed.
“Yes—I—I have heard,” answered Missy, slowly, and as Peter led me toward the runway, she followed—without another word. She walked unevenly, as a horse goes when he’s got the blind staggers.
I was sorry she hadn’t told him whowewere. For I must say that, on the Coast, no family stands better than the Sanborns. But Missy was changed—something had happened to her.
The very next day, something happened tome. Peter came down the stalls with a strange groom behind him and stopped at my box. For the swish of a tail, I didn’t think anything of that, for we often have new grooms. But when Peter put on my halter, and then my hood and dress-blanket, and the man took my leading-strap, I knew I was to be taken away somewhere.
I felt so startled and excited that I am sure I misbehaved. But the groom talked kindly to me, and Peter slapped me on the flank, and so I tried to go quietly. I think the other horses knew I was leaving—that strange groom gave them the hint. They looked around at me, and one whinnied to ask me what was the matter. They were all stall boarders, and of course I didn’t know them. And I was too unhappy to answer, anyway. For Thunderbolt was out in the trap, and, if I was going, I could not tell him good-bye.
“What if I’msold?” I kept saying to myself as I went down the runway and out to the street. “What if I’msold?” I shivered, for all my covering. “Oh, Missy, youwouldn’tdo that!”
Then another terrible thought: Is Missy going to get an auto? But that couldn’t be—Missyhatesautos.
Soon enough, I found out what had happened. The strange groom led me toward the Hudson, then north again—I am never mistaken in directions—and,finally, into a good-sized stable that stood midway of a block. Here, I was led upstairs—and into a standing-stall.
It made me cross, and I tried my hind shoes on the mats in short order (a blooded horse is expected to be nervous and impatient at times). But the place was clean and comfortable, and the double line of horses were, I must say, a very decent lot—not show horses, but good of their kind. All were fresh littered and well blanketed, and seemed contented enough. “This is where I’m going to live, I guess,” I thought to myself. Pretty soon I was sure of it. For here came Missy in her riding clothes.
“It’s all very nice,” I heard her tell the strange groom. “And I want you to give him every attention.” She opened one hand. There was a green piece of paper in it, and he bobbed his head as he took it. Then she opened her other hand—and there was some cracked corn. So it was on a Friday that I came to my new quarters.
It was three days later before I saw Thunderbolt and his master. We all met in the Park.
“They tell me Hector’s left Hart’s,” said Mr. England to Missy. “Now, Miss Sanborn,—you see I’ve found out who you are—it really wasn’t fair of you to go without letting me know about it. We’re both wool people, you must remember.” He spoke jokingly; but he looked a little worried.
Missy straightened in her stirrups (she rides cross-saddle) and tightened my reins. I felt them tremble. “I’ve moved,” she said, “and so, of course, Hector had to come nearer me.”
“I see—of course. Where are you now?”
“At Hawley’s, uptown—a nice stable.”
“Oh, yes.” (Mr. England looked hard at the dog’s head on the butt of his whip.)
There was an awkward silence. Then, “Good-afternoon,” said Missy, and went on.
It didn’t take me long to realise one thing about my new home. It was not so good as the old; in the main comforts it was, but not in little ones. We got two groomings instead of three; the litter was not deep, as at Hart’s; we were not watered so often; there was no more briny hay, and no flaxseed jelly. Several times, too, I saw delivery horses coming up a runway from the basement, and being put to heavy wagons. The horses on my floor, when they went out, were wickedly checked to make them hold up their heads.
Their treatment of me was always the perfection of good stable manners, and among the whole lot there was only one that especially irritated me. He was a bay with black points, one of those under-sized, jack-rabbity little nuisances called a Shetland.
“My! what airs!” he exclaimed one day as he was passing me in his governess’s cart. “I presume you’re much too fine to take hay-tea with the rest of us.”
“Don’t class yourself with the others,” I answered. “You remind me of nothing so much as a flea drawing a wash-basket.”
After that brush, he let me alone. And I tried to be contented at Hawley’s. I must say that Missy was kinder than ever to me. On apple days I got several, and on Saturdays a double quantity of stale bread and molasses. So why kick?
But very soon my dainties began to dwindle, and often Missy gave me none at all, so that I lost track of the days. And I noticed, when we went out for our regular gallop, that Missy never hummed to herself as we went along, or stopped to let me crop a little green, or nodded pleasantly to the mounted police we passed. She rode slowly, with her head down, or set me going at a run.
Then, when I had been at the new stable not more than two weeks, a strange groom came down the stalls to me for a second time. Again my hood and dress-blanket were put on, and I was led down and out. The groom was a hang-dog looking fellow. Still, I went with a prancing step. For I knew what it meant. I was going back to Martin and my box-stall!
But I wasn’t. We turned north again, going up a cobbled street that rang with clanging cars. Overhead, the Elevated roared and banged till my ears ached. And everywhere, on sidewalks and in the street, herds of noisy children shrieked and raced. My heart began to fail me. Under my blanket, I broke out in a cold sweat.
Too soon I knew the worst. Down a crowded street we turned, going eastward until I could see, ahead, a blur of green that was the Park. Then I was led into a low, ill-smelling, steaming building, around the door of which slouched a half-dozen rough-looking men, all smoking—smoking, mind you, in a stable! They looked me over as the groom brought me to a stand. And their eyes actually rolled at sight of me. It was plain they were not used to seeingmykind there.
They were not.Downa runway I went, and into a cellar, where there were fifty or so horses, all looking around and moving restlessly, as if they wanted feed or water. And here I was led into a narrow stall with little bedding—andthatbad—and a sour feed-box. Oh, what an awful night I spent! My dress-blanket had been taken off, and my sheet not put on. So the mosquitoes tormented me every minute. But I was not the worst off. Near me were horses that had plucked manes and banged tails, and no sheets. They couldn’t defend themselves, and rubbed from side to side in their stalls in a very panic of pain. That terrible banging, hour after hour, and the foul state of my stall kept me from lying down. The groom had given me no water when he brought me in. And until morning I suffered terribly.
I plucked up courage when I was groomed and watered, though I must say I could not eat all of my oats. Somehow or other, my appetite was gone. But Missy came, and we went out together. Not as I would have liked, for my coat was not so shining as usual, and some of my mane hung over the wrong side. And, worse than all, some straws were sticking in my tail!
Missy noticed nothing, not even the howls of the children in the street. In the Park she did not rein me to drink at the stone troughs along the bridle-path, or to crop. But there was one thing that, more than anything else, took the spirit out of me. Going south beside the East Drive, I saw ahead of us—Thunderbolt coming! Instantly, I neighed.Missy looked up, and then, as quick as she could, whirled me and started back, circling the reservoir the other way. So I did not have a chance to see my friend, or Mr. England. I went into the stable with my head hanging.
Things went along that way for a week. Meanwhile, I was not so well as usual. I caught a cold, for the stalls were hot and the air in the street chilled me to the bones. And I coughed, and my throat got so sore that I quidded my feed and splashed the water instead of drinking. I think Missy saw how it was. For one day, as we were going along, I felt a drop of water fall upon my withers—then another, and another. The sun was shining, there were no clouds. I turned my head a little. It was Missy—in tears!
I was so unhappy that I snapped at the next horse that went by.
But that morning ended happily, at least for me. Rounding a bend, we came close to a drive. And there was Thunderbolt and his master. I was so excited that I interfered.
They seemed as pleased as I at the meeting. But—Missy did not. Missy was nervous—she telegraphed that down the reins.
“Miss Sanborn,” said Mr. England, half as if he were going to scold, “you’ve been neglecting to ride lately.”
“Oh, no,” declared Missy; “I ride. But possibly not so long as usual. You see, I’m—I’m very busy.”
“Doubling your painting lessons?”
“No—n—no.”
“Ah,” said Mr. England, watching her narrowly, I thought. That wasallhe said. Then Missy bowed, and we galloped away.
I had had no chance to gossip with Thunderbolt, for we were not permitted to stand close or to touch noses. But I did notice that he looked me over carefully—and then his upper lip curled like the jockeys on my saddle.
But I forgot his treatment. For soon I had worse luck than ever, and much poorer care. For the third time, a strange groom came for me. I knew better than to expect a return to a good stable. And I was right. We went two blocks toward the Hudson, and through a wide gate leading into a lot—a lot filled with wagons and little shacks of the kind that Chinamen live in on the Coast. It took me a minute to realise what was going to happen. “Itcan’tbe!” I said to myself. “Oh, Missywouldn’t!” But it happened. I was led into a dark stall in one of those shanties!
There was a rough-coated lot in that yard, not society for a horse like me. Some were scrawny and spindle-shanked, with dull eyes and staring jackets. Some were stout and blocky—beer-jerking stock, but not nearly as well kept as brewery horses. Some showed pedigree. But these were poor, old, broken-down, mutilated things, badly used on pedler’s wagons. The three in my shanty bolted their food as if they never expected to get any more. It was all bloating stuff—chaff and straw—and about as palatable as hoof-dressing. As for grooming, none of us got any. It was just a jerk or two of thecurry-comb, and it was over. And this among a long-haired lot that looked as if they had never known a blanket!
I could see, when Missy came, thatshedidn’t like the place. And on one of her visits I found out just how she felt. It made me decide to put my best foot foremost, to act spirited even if I didn’t feel like it, and to stop biting my crib. She came to my head, a sugar lump in one hand. And as I took the dainty, she held me about the withers with her pretty arms. “Oh, Hector! Hector!” she whispered. “You’re all that’s left. I can’t do without you—I can’t! Ican’t!”
DearMissy!
We didn’t see Thunderbolt or his master for weeks after that. Missy avoided them. I knew it, and it added to my unhappiness. For I had seen how Mr. England liked me—and Missy, too. And I missed the nice things I always found in his pockets. And though I went out poorly groomed, I wouldn’t have minded Thunderbolt’s snorting. I’ve got better blood in me than he has any day. I know that by his cobby build.
Those were days when I often felt teardrops on my withers. And I couldn’t help but see that Missy was faring no better than I. Then I began to look and look andlookfor Mr. England. “Missy’s not getting all she needs to eat any more than I am,” I said to myself. And I was determined that if ever Mr. England gave me an apple or a sweet cake again, she was to have it.
Well, one day as we were posting along close to the West Drive, who should I spy but Mr. Englandand Thunderbolt with the trap—Martin on the rumble. I whinnied, and Missy gave me a smart rap for it that made me fairly dance. But neither Martin nor Mr. England saw me. As for Thunderbolt, if he did, he gave no sign, but stepped out with his high knee-action, making a good pace uptown.
It may have been acting like a skate. Certainly, I had never treated Missy that way before. But I decided to do it on the instant, and I took the blow she gave me as an excuse. For, with the bits held so that the curb-port couldn’t hurt me too much, I started to run with all my might, being careful not to stumble and make Missy come a cropper. Out upon the driveway I raced, and straight for Thunderbolt!
The clatter of my hoofs made both Mr. England and Martin glance back. They saw Missy coming after, pulling me in with might and main, and fairly standing in her stirrups. Mr. England gave Martin the reins and sprang to the ground. The trap was turned squarely across the drive. And I came bouncing into it, Mr. England catching at my bridle.
Missy dismounted, breathing hard.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said. “What possessed you, Hector? Oh, there’s something the matter with the darling!”
At that Thunderbolt turned his head. “Overfeeding,” he snickered. The hide-bound spavin!
“I think,” Mr. England was saying, “that you’d better not ride to the stable. Martin will drive you home, and I’ll take charge of this chap. He’s still excited.”
(I was only out of temper with Thunderbolt.)
But poor Missy! She lowered the nigh stirrup quick as a wink. “No, no, it really isn’t necessary,” she said; “Really it isn’t.I wouldn’t for the world let Hector think he’d scared me. It would spoil him. I must ride him right away, and conquer him.” And she mounted.
Martin had turned the trap by now, for other vehicles were passing. But Mr. England did not get up.
“You’re right, of course,” he answered. “If he thinks he beat you out, he’ll only bully you every chance he gets after this. But still I must insist on taking you to the stable. We’ll go slowly, and you put his nose close behind the rumble and keep it there.”
I felt the reins tremble dreadfully. It wasn’t fear, either. Then Missy bent over, speaking low.
“Mr. England,” she said earnestly, “not Martin. Won’t you send him home with Thunderbolt?Please.”
Mr. England saw that she was troubled about something and he gave her her head. “Martin,” he called to the groom, “you take the trap in. And attend to that thong on the whiffletree—it doesn’t hold the trace.”
Thunderbolt went trotting off. Mr. England turned back to Missy. “Hector seems a little quieter now,” he said.
Then I saw that Missy wasn’t going to let Mr. England come with her any more than she had Martin. “There isn’t any reason for your coming,” she said. “Hector’s like a lamb.”
For a second, I thought he hesitated. But I settledthat. With a little squeal and a shake of my head, I reared—just a trifle.
Quick as a fly, Mr. England had my reins. “He isn’t over his tantrum yet, you see,” he said quietly, but very decidedly. “I can’t think of letting you take him in alone.”
Well, Missy protested. But he was firm. And we started for the entrance, with him at my bridle.
As soon as I saw he was really coming, I hung my head and went along like a case of chest-founder. When we reached the street, he took to the sidewalk, watching me every instant though, and watching poor Missy. She was hanging her head, too.
At a corner, Mr. England turned north, expecting us to follow. For that was the way to Hawley’s. Missy reined me up and called to him, and he came back.
I could see her face was dreadfully pale. But she was just as straight in her saddle as she could be. “Not that way, Mr. England,” she said.
He didn’t show the least surprise. (He is a thoroughbred, too.) “You lead,” he said; “I’ll follow.”
And so we went on—to the wagon-yard, Mr. England looking at the sidewalk, Missy looking straight ahead.
The gate was open. I went in, not stopping till I reached the door of my shanty. There, Missy got down. She was standing beside me as Mr. England came around the corner, and leaning a little upon me, one gloved hand reached up to the saddle.
Mr. England strode close up to her, and they stood for a moment, her face raised bravely to his, his eyes searching her.
“Oh, little woman!” he said, and his voice shook; “oh, little woman!”
She took her under lip in her teeth. “There’s—there’s no reason for me to conceal anything,” she said. “Matters were a little tight at home, and I had to be economical.”
He was looking at her as if he was bewildered. “Matters tight—at home——” he repeated. Then, of a sudden, he seemed to know what it all meant, and his face got as white as Missy’s. “Your father—then, your father——?” he began, almost chokingly.
Missy looked straight back at him, and there was no more leaning against me. “Yes. And now you know why I didn’t want you to come here. It wasn’t because I was ashamed of this. It was because I knew you’d find out. And then you might think—might think that I felt there was something personal about it. You see, I realise there wasn’t. Father made contracts to deliver. Afterward, wool went up——”
Mr. England groaned. “To think it reached you! Thatyouhad to suffer.”
“But Ihaven’tsuffered. Work was offered me here,—work in an art line. I have felt no hardship from it. In fact, there is happiness in earning a living. I am learning so much. The only disappointment I’ve had was about Hector. He’s not been quite as comfortable——” She stopped and caressed my shoulder tenderly.
Something got into my wind-pipe then, and I had to mouth my bits to keep from coughing.
“And where do you live?” asked Mr. England. “Not where you did. I went there—more than once.”
“Well,—no-o—. But in a very nice place. I take my meals across from the store.”
“The store?”
“Yes. I am painting Christmas things—cards and so on. It’s pleasant work. And my room looks out on the side of a church. And there’s a stained-glass window there, and ivy all over the church wall.”
Mr. England began again, low and deep and earnestly. “Once in a lifetime,” he said, “a man meets a girl like you—sweet and sensible and good, that can take a blow like this without a word, find her feet again, and begin her fight bravely, doing without things that are second nature to her, and going without comforts for a friend, even when that friend is only a horse!”
“But I couldn’t do without Hector,” Missy declared. “I love him too much.”
(I rubbed my nose against her sleeve.)
“Sometimes I’ve had a terrible thought,” she said, half in a whisper. “It was that I might be forced to part with him. And—and I’ve wondered—oh, you’ll forgive me, I hope—if I have to, you’ll take him, Mr. England? He’s a perfect lady’s saddler.”
“You mean,—I may need a lady’s saddler?”
“Well, you—you might.”
“I shall—if I havemyway about it.”
Dear Missy turned to me again, and put her armsabout my neck. “I’m not brave about this,” she whispered, and hid her face in my mane.
All of a sudden he pulled her hands free and turned her toward him. “You love him,” he said. “I wonder if there’s room in your heart for anyone else,dearlittle woman?”
And just at that moment that ragamuffin of a stable-boy popped into sight. Of course, I was led away.
I don’t know how I ever lived through the next few days. No Missy, no dainties, nothing but a short airing each morning to take me out of that terrible shanty. Ah, I knew what had happened to methistime. I was out of the Sanborn family. I was somebody else’s lady’s saddler!
Then, one morning, when the boy led me out through the gate, he started off south along the Boulevard. I had on my dress-blanket and hood. Behind me came another boy, carrying my saddle and bridle and the rest of my clothes. This was going somewhere.
“They can’t find any place in New York worse than that shanty,” I said to myself. And for the first time since leaving California, I completely lost heart. I put my head down and just stumbled long.
And then—I suddenly found that we had passed the Circle, turned east, and were in front of Hart’s! We mounted the runway. Andthere it was—the roomy box-stall across from Thunderbolt’s, deep with sweet bedding, and matted in Peter’s best style. And there was Missy, looking so pink and pretty! And there was Mr. England, smiling so hard he couldn’t talk!
“Dear Hector!” cried Missy. “Oh, Martin, be very good to him while we’re away!”
“Yes, mum,” said Martin.
“And to Thunderbolt, too,” said Missy.
Martin bobbed, and tugged at his cap.
Then Missy reached up and pulled my head down close to her. “Darling Hector!” she whispered. “We’re home to stay!” And she kissed the star in my forehead.