So Tinkle knew by the voice that the man was kind, and he followed him to a little tent where there were many other ponies. In a tent next door were big horses, and they were all either eating hay or oats, or lying down on the straw, for it was not yet time for the circus to begin.
“Here is a new pony I have bought, Tom,” said the first man to one who had charge of the ponies. “He can do a few tricks and I am going to teach him more. Look after him, and clean him off. He doesn’t seem to have been well taken care of.”
“That’s right, Mr. Drake; he doesn’t,” answered Tom. “I’ll take good care of him, though.”
Poor Tinkle’s hairy coat was in a sad state. It was dirty and bits of hay and straw clung to it. Also his mane and tail were tangled. Tinkle had been kept very clean by Patrick and George, but the moving men spent no time on the pony they had stolen.
“First to clean you up,” said Tom, talking to himself, but also, in a way, speaking to Tinkle. “Then we’ll see about your tricks. Mr. Drake is a good pony teacher.”
Though Tinkle could understand very little of this talk, yet, somehow, he felt happier than he had in a long while—in fact since he had been taken away from George.
With a brush, a currycomb, and a cloth Tom cleaned Tinkle’s hairy coat until it began to shine and glisten almost as it had when he lived in the nice Farley stable.
“That will do for a while,” said Tom. “Now I’ll get you something to eat. Come along, pony,” and he whistled just as George used to do. Tinkle liked to hear a clear, cheerful whistle.
Tinkle was tied in the tent with the other ponies. His stall was just a place between two ropes, and his manger made of canvas, for the tent, and everything in it, had to be moved from place to place as the circus traveled, and wooden stalls, such as are in barns, would never do. In the manger were some hay and oats. Tinkle began to eat hungrily. It was almost as good as being home again.