“Do all the horses here do that?” asked Tinkle, who felt very sad.
“Most of us,” answered his new friend. “Some horses haul big wagons loaded with hay and feed, and the men don’t give us any too much to eat, either. Sometimes, when I’m drawing a load of hay, I’m so hungry I could just eat nearly all that is piled on the wagon. You won’t like it here a bit.”
“Oh, what’s the use of making trouble?” asked a horse in the stall on the other side of Tinkle. “He’s here, and he’ll have to stay.”
“Yes, I guess he will,” agreed the first horse. “But I don’t see what kind of work he can do. He isn’t big enough to be hitched up with any of us, and, if he was, he couldn’t pull the smallest moving van the men have.”
“I can pull a pony cart!” said Tinkle who did not like the other horses to think he was of no use in the world.
“Ha! Pony cart!” exclaimed one horse whose hide was covered with mud. “You’ll find no pony carts around here! Dump carts, more likely. I’ve been hauling dirt in dump carts all day long, until I’m so tired I can hardly stand. And there’s a big sore on my back, too!”
“I’m sorry for that,” said Tinkle kindly. “If Patrick were here he’d put something on it to make it better.”
“Who’s Patrick?” asked the dirt-cart horse. “Is he one of us?”
“Patrick is the coachman who taught me to do tricks for George, the little boy,” answered Tinkle, and he felt rather proud as he said this.
“Tricks, is it?” laughed the horse who had first spoken. “You’ll have no time for tricks here. You must belong in a circus. Tricks indeed!”