“You want a harness and waggin too, don’t yer?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I shall have to have something to drive him in.”
“Wall, I guess I can fix you out with a full rig.”
So after looking through the sheds, he pulled out an old gig with one shaft broken and without wheels. “Guess I’ll find the wheels of this somewhar. Do you know this is the same gig that very Dick yused ter haul on the race track; he may remember it after yer hitch him into it. If he does, you want to look out for him, and here are the wheels.”
He pulled them out of a pile of old lumber and rubbish, and fitted them on; one was badly dished in and was painted red, the other was as badly dished out and one day had been painted yellow; but I was anxious and didn’t object; I wanted to get home.
So after getting the “gig” together, he patched a harness from the odd pieces he found, then fitted them on to the poor horse who looked as if he was sorry he was alive.
Finally we had everything all ready. I mounted the “gig.” As I did so, I noticed it seemed one sided, and looking at the wheels, I found one was somewhat larger than the other, but said nothing. Taking up the lines made up my mind to get home and fix it there. I pulled on the reins and spoke to “Dick,” but he didn’t move. The old man took him by the bridle and led him to the road remarking at the same time, “Dick never did like to go away from home.”
After we reached the road, the old man hit “Dick” with a hoe handle, and off he started. It was four miles from his house to ours, and I reached home NEXT DAY. Figured up what the whole thing cost me: The horse stood me $33.50, the “gig” $7.50, and the harness, (?) 75 cents. This was my outfit to make or break me. My brothers laughed at my trade, but I didn’t care, I had a purpose, and I was bound to accomplish it.
When I wanted to use my “rig,” to harness the horse, I was obliged to take a ladder to put his bridle on, lead him alongside of the steps to put the saddle and breeching on, and back him up to the well-curb to put his tail in the “crupper,” and after he was hitched to the “gig,” nine times out of ten he would wait till he was ready to go.
Some time after I learned that uncle “Dan’l” was a regular horse dealer and kept just such old plugs around him, and that they were always his wife’s favorites when the old man wanted to get one off his hands. However, Dick and I became great friends. I fixed up the old “gig,” and it answered my purpose. I got there with it.