Beautiful Joe [80]
away he went, I racing down the
lane by his side, so happy to think he was my friend. He liked having me beside
him, and every few seconds put down his head toward me. Animals can tell each
other things without saying a word. When Fleetfoot gave his head a little toss
in a certain way, I knew that he wanted to have a race. He had a beautiful even
gait, and went very swiftly. Mr. Harry kept speaking to him to check him.
"You don't like him to go too fast, do you?" said Miss Laura.
"No," he returned. "I think we could make a racer of him if we liked, but father
and I don't go in for fast horses. There is too much said about fast trotters
and race horses. On some of the farms around here, the people have gone mad on
breeding fast horses. An old farmer out in the country had a common cart-horse
that he suddenly found out had great powers of speed and endurance. He sold him
to a speculator for a big price, and it has set everybody wild. If the people
who give all their time to it can't raise fast horses I don't see how the
farmers can. A fast horse on a farm is ruination to the boys, for it starts them
racing and betting. Father says he is going to offer a prize for the fastest
walker that can be bred in New Hampshire. That Dutchman of ours, heavy as he is,
is a fair walker, and Cleve and Pacer can each walk four and a half miles an
hour."
"Why do you lay such stress on their walking fast?" asked Miss Laura.
"Because so much of the farm work must be done at a walk. Ploughing, teaming,
and drawing produce to market, and going up and down hills. Even for the cities
it is good to have fast walkers. Trotting on city pavements is very hard on the
dray horses. If they are allowed to go at a quick walk, their legs will keep
strong much longer. It is shameful the way horses are used up in big cities. Our
pavements are so bad that cab horses are used up in three years. In many ways we
are a great deal better off in this new country than the people in Europe, but
we are not in respect of cab horses, for in London and Paris they last for five
years. I have seen horses drop down dead in New York just from hard usage. Poor
brutes, there is a better time coming for them though. When electricity is more
fully developed we'll see some wonderful changes. As it is, last year in
different places, about thirty thousand horses were released from those
abominable horse cars, by having electricity introduced on the roads. Well,
Fleetfoot, do you want another spin? All right, my boy, go ahead."
Away we went again along a bit of level road. Fleetfoot had no check-rein on his
beautiful neck, and when he trotted, he could hold his head in an easy, natural
position. With his wonderful eyes and flowing mane and tail, and his glossy,
reddish-brown body, I thought that he was the handsomest horse I had ever seen.
He loved to go fast, and when Mr. Harry spoke to him to slow up again, he tossed
his head with impatience. But he was too sweet-tempered to disobey. In all the
years that I have known Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as
his master told him.
"You have forgotten your whip, haven't you Harry?" I heard Miss Laura say, as we
jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and with my tongue hanging
out.
"I never use one," said Mr. Harry; "if I saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, I'd
knock him down." His voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy. He
looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground, and gave
him a beating.
"I am so glad you don't," said Miss Laura. "You are like the Russians. Many of
them control their horses by their voices, and call them such pretty names. But
you have to use a whip for some horses, don't you, Cousin Harry?"
"Yes, Laura. There are many vicious horses that can't be controlled otherwise,
and then with many horses one requires a whip in case of necessity for urging
them forward."
"I suppose Fleetfoot never balks," said Miss Laura.
"No," replied Mr. Harry;
lane by his side, so happy to think he was my friend. He liked having me beside
him, and every few seconds put down his head toward me. Animals can tell each
other things without saying a word. When Fleetfoot gave his head a little toss
in a certain way, I knew that he wanted to have a race. He had a beautiful even
gait, and went very swiftly. Mr. Harry kept speaking to him to check him.
"You don't like him to go too fast, do you?" said Miss Laura.
"No," he returned. "I think we could make a racer of him if we liked, but father
and I don't go in for fast horses. There is too much said about fast trotters
and race horses. On some of the farms around here, the people have gone mad on
breeding fast horses. An old farmer out in the country had a common cart-horse
that he suddenly found out had great powers of speed and endurance. He sold him
to a speculator for a big price, and it has set everybody wild. If the people
who give all their time to it can't raise fast horses I don't see how the
farmers can. A fast horse on a farm is ruination to the boys, for it starts them
racing and betting. Father says he is going to offer a prize for the fastest
walker that can be bred in New Hampshire. That Dutchman of ours, heavy as he is,
is a fair walker, and Cleve and Pacer can each walk four and a half miles an
hour."
"Why do you lay such stress on their walking fast?" asked Miss Laura.
"Because so much of the farm work must be done at a walk. Ploughing, teaming,
and drawing produce to market, and going up and down hills. Even for the cities
it is good to have fast walkers. Trotting on city pavements is very hard on the
dray horses. If they are allowed to go at a quick walk, their legs will keep
strong much longer. It is shameful the way horses are used up in big cities. Our
pavements are so bad that cab horses are used up in three years. In many ways we
are a great deal better off in this new country than the people in Europe, but
we are not in respect of cab horses, for in London and Paris they last for five
years. I have seen horses drop down dead in New York just from hard usage. Poor
brutes, there is a better time coming for them though. When electricity is more
fully developed we'll see some wonderful changes. As it is, last year in
different places, about thirty thousand horses were released from those
abominable horse cars, by having electricity introduced on the roads. Well,
Fleetfoot, do you want another spin? All right, my boy, go ahead."
Away we went again along a bit of level road. Fleetfoot had no check-rein on his
beautiful neck, and when he trotted, he could hold his head in an easy, natural
position. With his wonderful eyes and flowing mane and tail, and his glossy,
reddish-brown body, I thought that he was the handsomest horse I had ever seen.
He loved to go fast, and when Mr. Harry spoke to him to slow up again, he tossed
his head with impatience. But he was too sweet-tempered to disobey. In all the
years that I have known Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as
his master told him.
"You have forgotten your whip, haven't you Harry?" I heard Miss Laura say, as we
jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and with my tongue hanging
out.
"I never use one," said Mr. Harry; "if I saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, I'd
knock him down." His voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy. He
looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground, and gave
him a beating.
"I am so glad you don't," said Miss Laura. "You are like the Russians. Many of
them control their horses by their voices, and call them such pretty names. But
you have to use a whip for some horses, don't you, Cousin Harry?"
"Yes, Laura. There are many vicious horses that can't be controlled otherwise,
and then with many horses one requires a whip in case of necessity for urging
them forward."
"I suppose Fleetfoot never balks," said Miss Laura.
"No," replied Mr. Harry;