My young master was intensely interested as his uncle talked to him about the width of stalls, the size of windows, the proper kind of concrete flooring which should have wooden stall racks, the ventilating flues and rolling doors.
"Why didn't you bring my Prince Fetlar up to this grand stable?" asked young Dallas, smiling at me as I thrust an inquiring muzzle over his shoulder.
"Because we never assign a stall till we find out a horse's disposition. If you went to boarding-school you wouldn't want to bed next a boy you disliked."
"Not I," said my sensitive young master with a shiver. "It makes me sick to be near people I don't care for."
"Well, ponies are almost as particular as boys. Now come over to this side of the stable where the ponies face west. Here's your pet's stall next Apache Girl's. She won't have every pony next her, but she will get on with his amiable highness."
This was a compliment for me, so I licked a bit of this nice man's shoulder in a caressing way, and he turned and gazed deep into what he called my "soft and soulful" eyes.
"So you are to come up here, Prince Fetlar," said Dallas, stroking me kindly. "Now I wonder what this big stall beyond yours is for. It looks as if you could put a dozen ponies in it."
"That's the hospital stall," said his uncle. "See, there is a bed above it for a man to sleep when a pony or horse requires to be watched at night. A button by his bed enables him to turn on the light."
"I see you have lights all over the stable," said Dallas.
"Yes, the horse race likes cheerfulness as much as we do. Now let us groom the Prince."