"Auntie's Favorite Horse"
Dave Beach had traded for an old pacing mare. She was very sore forward, at least sixteen years old, but had a world of speed for a short distance. In the harness she was quiet and kind, but in the barn she would drive nearly every one from her. To feed her was a trick few men cared to learn. She would kick and bite, and any one who was the least bit timid could do nothing with her. Dave had traded for her in another city. She was not known to horsemen around here. He expected to make some money with her, so he kept her out of sight as much as possible until he got her "fixed up a bit," as he put it.
He had her teeth filed until she had a six-year-old mouth. Her shoes were pulled off to let her feet spread and grow. The clippers had removed her long hair, and Dave had fed her to bring the best results for looks and speed. He knew nothing of her breeding, but that was "easy" for a man as horsy as Dave. When she was ready for the public to see she looked as racy as even Dave had hoped for.
The morning paper contained the following advertisement:
"For Sale.—The bay pacing mare Becky Wilkes, by Forward, by George Wilkes, by Hamiltonian 10, by Abdallah 1. Dam: Mamie B, by Brown Hal, by Tom Hal, Jr., by Kitrell's Tom Hal, by old Kentucky Tom Hal. This mare is six years old, kind and gentle, perfectly sound, and can show a 10 clip to wagon. With proper work she would be a world beater. Reason for selling—death in the family. Call mornings at Beach's Livery, Brady St."
After Dave's experience with Jimmie he went to bed and slept until ten o'clock. He was standing in the big double door of the barn, thinking what a fool he had made of himself, when a young fellow drove up to the curb and stopped.
"Is this Beach's Livery?"
"Yes, sir, this is the place," said Dave.
"I see by the paper that you have a pacer for sale." The speaker was a fine-looking young man, with a good face and an easy manner. He was dressed in the pink of fashion, and his general make-up would denote wealth. Dave was not sure of the kind of man he had to deal with. He looked him over carefully, but somehow he was unable to tell whether he was "horse wise" or not. "He'll soon show his hand," said Dave to himself. "He's either 'dead wise' or 'dead easy.'"
"Yes, sir, I have a very fine bay mare and she's for sale to the right party," said Dave. "No one can get that mare to abuse, as she is very dear to our family. Do you want a horse for yourself, sir?"