This stable was not at all like the nice place in which Tinkle had lived when he was the pet of George. The straw on the floor was not clean, and when Tinkle was given a pail of water, after he had been tied in the stall, the water was not clean, either. Still Tinkle was so thirsty that he drank it. Then he felt a little better. But oh! how he did want his own, nice, clean box stall.
For now he found himself in an ordinary stall, such as the other horses had. The manger was too high for him to eat from, but one of the men brought a low box and put some hay in it.
“There! he can eat out of that I guess,” said the man. “We’ll likely sell him in a couple of days if we can find some one to buy him. He ought to bring in some money if he can do tricks.”
Poor Tinkle did not understand or pay much attention to this talk. He was too hungry, and, though the hay was not so sweet as that he got at home, still he munched it. Suddenly he heard a voice speaking in a language he understood.
“Hello in there!” was called to him. “Are you a new horse?”
“I’m a pony,” was the answer Tinkle made. “Who are you, if you please?”
“Ha! You’re polite, anyhow, which is more than I can say of some of the horses in this stable,” went on the voice. “Where did you come from, anyhow?”
“I belong to a boy named George,” answered Tinkle. “To George and his sister Mabel. I don’t know where I am, nor why I was brought here. I didn’t want to come. I’d rather be back in my own home.”
“Oh, ho!” exclaimed the voice, and by the light of a lantern hanging in the stable Tinkle could see that it was a horse in the next stall that was speaking to him. “Oh, ho! If you stay here long you’ll find there are lots of things you don’t want to do. I don’t want to pull a heavy moving van about the streets all day, but I have to,” said the horse, and he gave something like a groan.