It was his first seeing of this part of London in the open air. He’d always passed on the bus. And it was wonderful. Halfway across the bridge he pulled Amos to a halt. “Have a wind, old boy,” he murmured, “while I take in a bit of the atmosphere.”
There was a strange moving in Corky as he surveyed the scene—warmed and softly glowing in the morning sunshine.
“Oh, Amos, ain’t that just grand! Wherever you go in London it don’t seem right if you can’t see the old river. Hear the little boats chugging away? It must be a lovely life to move on water the whole time, never to know what a nail in your shoe or a corn is. How would you like to be a boat, Amos? Why, you’d never get tired, or would you?”
Corky just could not help feeling proud and important as he drove through London. It was not his imagination, he felt sure—people really did stare as he drove by. There was no doubt, a pony boy caught the public eye almost as keenly as a man with a pneumatic drill, certainly much more than a bus or tram driver. And in spite of himself, he could not stop a little style creeping into his stance, his expression, and the manner in which he called out to Amos. At first he had been rather embarrassed by the stares of young girls, and it was very hard not to blush. But then he decided to adopt Ginger’s advice, which had been, “Ignore ’em!”
Finally, at a time when Corky was raging with hunger, they arrived at the quiet spot where Ginger had told him to have lunch. He might have missed it himself, only Amos slowed down, and quietly turned round the corner off the main road, and stopped beside a grass verge. Just after crossing Hammersmith Bridge it was, along a road called Castelnau. It was warm and pleasant here. Corky got out the feeding-bag and fastened it on Amos. Then took the packet of sandwiches from his pocket, and began to eat.
He was so happy and excited that he began to fidget. It seemed Amos might eat better with a support for his nosebag, so Corky got one of the straight-backed chairs down from the load. Placed it carefully before Amos, propped it up with a couple of bricks, and set the nosebag on it. Amos at first appeared irritated by these fussy attentions. “I know you’re thinking of Ginger the whole time.” Corky said to him, “and I don’t blame you. But it’s not my fault, Amos. And perhaps in time you’ll get to like me as much as Ginger. ...” Now the nosebag was really comfortable, and Amos didn’t have to shake it up, so he nodded appreciation to Corky, and got down seriously to the business of eating. Still that young fellow could not settle. Nothing would do him now, but that he must drag one of the heavy armchairs off the cart, for a comfortable seat. Fortunately, he didn’t quite get it off; for he had not considered the task of placing it back. Amos showed such positive annoyance and disapproval of the whole thing, flicked his tail, cocked and uncocked his ears, rapidly pushing his own chair over, and finally, with a bad-tempered swing of his head and a couple of snorts into the nosebag, he flung it and his lunch to the ground. For a moment he trembled, threateningly, in suppressed anger, then turned into a stiff, dignified sulk.
Corky got down, rather shamefacedly, to straighten matters up. Amos was snooty this time. He made things awkward for Corky replacing the nosebag. And then, when Corky succeeded, he stood in peevish unco-operation, disdaining the food.
“Go on, why don’t you say it?” said Corky. “’You can put a nosebag on a pony but you can’t make him eat.’ I’m sorry, Amos. Honest I am. Don’t hold it against me this time, and I promise faithfully I shan’t disturb you again!”
To show his good faith he sat on the grass before Amos and began to eat his sandwiches. Then, slowly at first, Amos began to eat too.
“You must always have a ten-minute snooze after lunch!” this had been Ginger’s advice. “I’m saying ten minutes, but actually it runs on to a half-hour or so. Not too long, or else you’ll never feel like starting. I’ll warn you, don’t go off to sleep again after your first wakening. I did once, and it was going dark when I woke up from it. No second time. Old Amos had to drag me off the cart, that was when he’d finished all the nice grass. Nearly got sacked that time, I did. But just the same, you have the old forty to forty-five winks, and I guarantee it’ll make a new man of you. Don’t forget to take Amos out of the shafts, or else he waggles about from one leg to the other, and unsettles you. When you wake up there might be a surprise. I won’t tell you what it is, in case it doesn’t happen.”
So, when Amos had finished the contents of his nosebag, he was freed from the shafts, and Corky got on the cart, and settled luxuriously in the armchair. He couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t sleep, for when he shut his eyes it was a sign for his brain to rush into vivid wakefulness. He had nothing to read, but he felt through his pockets to make sure. No, nothing. It was quite comfortable up in a chair on a cart, and the old sun tickling his cheeks, and quirking long sweet rays at his eyelashes.
Corky awoke with a bang. Just in time for a fearful sensation of hitting something. He was lying beside the cart, the armchair over him. He didn’t know what to do. It was dark and all dusty. Where was Gunga? And the crowds? And the lovely maid?
Coo, he had a lump on his napper. And didn’t it hurt! Ooh, what time was it? the chairs! the job! He struggled up in alarm. A lady was standing by, a white-haired lady holding out three apples.
“Are you all right, sonny?” she asked kindly. “I saw you tumble down, just as I was approaching, but I was too late to stop you. Oh, dear, you did give me a fright.”
“What time is it, please ma’am? Please?”
“Oh, about ha’past one, I imagine.”
“It must be after that! How long have I been here, I wonder?”
“Well, I saw you first sitting in the chair less than five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes! Five minutes! Why I’ve been all over the world in that time,” exclaimed Corky. “Oooh, but what a relief! Half-one, you say?”
“Yes, er, would you give these apples to your pony, please? I always keep some for him. I do so love animals,” said the old lady. “And I appreciate how kind you boys are. I see you let them out of the shafts so they can have some ease.”
Corky nodded. He didn’t like to say it was because they disturbed one’s sleep. He called Amos who came nosing up at once.
“Here you are, old boy, see how you like these”
Amos could scarce believe his luck. His eyes shone in amazement at Corky’s outstretched hand, holding an apple.
“Don’t be shy, Amos. Eat them—this lady has brought them for you.”
After Amos had taken the first one, he made short work of the other two. It made Corky’s teeth run to see how luscious and juicy was the fruit. How he wished he was Amos, just for that moment.
“And here you are,” said the old lady, “there’s two pence for yourself.”
Corky stammered his thanks. Twopence was all right, it would come in handy. But the apples were lovely. Still, it was very good of her to give anything. She didn’t have to. Corky looked down at the chair. A dent or two, and a long scratch across the leather top. He could say it had fallen off—there was no need to go into details. The difficulty was getting it back on the cart. He knew that these feats required intelligence as much as strength, and immediately began to figure out a method.
“Ah, I’ve got it!” he cried. Amos was put back in the shafts. The chair was roped to a wheel. Then holding the chair, Corky called on Amos to gently “Gee up.” Obligingly, Amos moved forward a few paces. He had to jerk, but halted when Corky cried “Whoa!” Now the chair had turned with the wheel, and was poised over the cart. Corky unfastened the rope, and the chair swung back on the cart. Then he took his seat, called to Amos, and off they went to Richmond.
The man in charge stopped Corky’s perturbed explanation of the soiled chair by a wave of his hand. “There’s worse things happen at sea. Forget it. Nobody knows who’s done it. Let’s sign your paper and off you go.”
The journey back was pleasant and speedy. Until Corky decided to take a short cut. Soon he was lost, and he didn’t know what to do. He asked the
direction a number of times, but went astray more than ever. Then Amos took things in hand. He set off at a gallop, heedless of Corky’s tugs on the reins. Finally, Corky realized Amos knew what he was doing. Unerringly he made bends and turns, and soon was belting happily down the street to the stables.
Ginger was in, brushing Satan, and eager to know how Corky had fared.
“Did she come out with the apples—the old lady?”
“Oh yes,” replied Corky. “She brought three out.”
“Aren’t they a lovely flavour?” said Ginger.
“Well, I don’t know. She brought them for Amos.”
“What! you mean to say you gave Amos the apples?” cried Ginger. Corky flushed.
“Well, I was going to take a bite at the red part, that was when I saw Amos never left any stump. But then I felt it would be mean. Anyway the old lady was watching——”
“Stop! ...” Ginger raised a hand. “Don’t say another word, you’re breaking my heart, bringing tears to my eyes. Oh, chase me up a gum tree—what do you suppose Amos will think of me now that you’ve given him the apples?”
“But why? What’s the harm?”
“The harm is I, me, Ginger, used to eat the apples—and I’d buy Amos carrots with the tuppence. And you can take it from me, they did him more good!”
“But after all, she gives the apples to Amos ...” said Corky. “It’s not honest. And further, what does she say, I mean if she knows you eat them?”
Ginger took a long, deliberate sigh.
“Now look here, Corky, honesty is all very well. And there’s nobody believes in honesty more than me—in one sense. But if you’ve been brought up, sixteen of you living in a poky little house, having to go out scavenging for your grub now and again, you learn to mix a bit of reality with your honesty. Perhaps it was wrong of me to pinch old Amos’s apples, but I did, and it’s no use wrapping it up. I’ll admit, the first time or two, they did sort of stick a bit in my throat and take their time going down—because old Amos used to give me a look that meant, ‘You ain’t kidding me, Ginger. I know the old lady intends them apples for me!’ But after a few times they used to slip gaily down into the old turn. And Amos stopped giving me those looks, because he enjoyed the carrots, and anyway, the looks didn’t get him anywhere.”
“But what did the lady say?”
“What could she say?—she never saw anything. I used to say to her ‘God bless you, mum, you must have a heart of gold’; old ladies love anything like that, see? Then I’d explain, ‘He’s just had his lunch, mum, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to give them to him when we’re on our way in, about five o’clock. He gets very tired and downhearted, and a little chew of apple cheers him up wonderful. That’s if you don’t mind ...?’ ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ says the old lady. ‘It’s very considerate of you to think of him so sweetly.’”
“It sounds all right,” said Corky. “But I still don’t see that it’s fair.”
“Fair! fair!” Ginger exploded. “Is it fair when the old lady stands by and lets Amos eat three apples without a sign of thought that you had a mouth? She wouldn’t imagine your stomach could be on the light side, would she? It’s not that I begrudge my pony—don’t I share my breakfast with him every morning? It’s like this, Corky,” Ginger went on more quietly, “such as me and you, we’ve got to think for ourselves where these posh folk are concerned. Suppose my Mum came out, do you think she’d give all the apples to the pony? Not her! Nor would any other Mum I know. I’ll tell you why, because mothers have got understanding, see? They know what boys are. Take a woman like my Mum, a woman who’s got more’n a dozen children, she don’t have love to lavish on dogs, cats, and ponies. Not that she ain’t fond of them. My mother wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Now I’m not saying but what this apple lady is not a real kind-hearted woman,” went on Ginger. “I expect if she’d only a drop of milk left it would go in the saucer for tabby, and she’d drink her tea without. They give half their money to homes for stray cats and leave themselves short. Now you couldn’t say that is anything but unselfish.”
“Okay,” Corky agreed, then added, argumentatively, “But what difference does it make now, this minute, whether Amos ate the apples, or you ate ’em? Or whether all the apples you ever ate were carrots?”
“Not a scrap of difference. But what I’ve got in mind is the future! And it is a matter of extreme importance to me, that all the apples I eat in that same future are not carrots! And what’s more, it is very essential that I eat them, and not somebody else.”
11 A Hew Pony
“Come on, gentlemen—I could do better
in a cemetery with the gates shut!”
“HY, Ginger! What blinking game are you on?” demanded Corky, as he got down the stables to his stall. “What are you cleaning Amos for—I thought I was going to have him till Alfie Green came back?”
Ginger gave a shrug, and turned up a gloomy face:
“I’m sorry, old pal, but Alfie’s back at work. The guv’nor gave me orders to take on Amos, again, so there you are.”
There was a line of young heads peeking sympathetically as Corky stood in the middle of the stables.
“Tough luck, Corky.”
“Coo, back to the stables—you got my deepest pity.”
Young Alfie Green came across: “I feel bad about it, Corky——”
“Oh, it’s not your fault,” said Corky. “I’m glad you’re better. Glad to see you back. Blow me, you couldn’t keep off work for ever, just to let me have a pony.”
“Just the same I know how rotten it feels,” said Alfie. “I couldn’t sleep at night for thinking of old Satan, and wondering about him missing me.”
“Here’s old Crater now,” whispered Ginger. “You tell him he’s gotta get you a pony! No promises and no messing, he’s either got to get you a pony or else you’ll pack in the job!”
The boys nipped back to industrious brushing of their animals as the guv’nor came along.
“Well, me boy, what’re you looking so glum about?” began Mr Crater.”
“Garn,” put in Bill Posk. “He’s happy. He’s got a smile all over his face, because he’s coming back to the stables and us.”
There was a hissing whisper from Ginger: “Corky, give ’em the ultimatum! A pony or pack in!”
“What’s that?” Mr Crater’s sharp ears had heard something.
“I was only humming a song,” said Ginger.
“What song?”
“‘Give him an old tomato ...’” Ginger began to sing, making up the words and music as he went along, and winking at Corky. “‘A peony from Pekin.’”
“Oh, I see,” said Mr Crater; then he turned to Corky: “Get cracking on the stable jobs, as quick as you can, son. You’re coming out with me and Bill Posk this morning, we’ve got a nice little outing for you.”
“‘Don’t let him fob you off,’” Ginger was singing.
“What are you chanting about?” asked Bill Posk.
“‘Don’t let him sob and cough,’” went on Ginger innocently. “It’s a father singing to his child,” he explained to the suspicious Bill.
Then Mr Crater took Corky by the arm, telling him what time to be ready, and as they went down the stables voices were lifted in chorus, Ginger’s in the lead, singing:
“Boys, don’t believe it, we’ve heard that tale before!”
It was a deep, unhappy moment for Corky when he saw his mates riding gaily out of the yard. Of course, Ginger would have a last word:
“If the guv’nor don’t get you one, I’ll pinch you a pony!”
Corky wired into the sweeping and barrow wheeling; dashed for the tea, tossed it back, and at half-past nine was going out in the company of Mr Crater and Bill Posk.
Corky liked the feeling that came from walking along with the two men. They treated him as one of themselves, and included his ear in their talk:
“Wife couldn’t sleep last night,” remarked the guv’no
r.
“Asthma?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s really her bronnikal tubes, they kind of get all bogged up, and won’t let her breath through. And her pastilles tin was empty.”
“Y’oughter come round to our place. I allus got a tin indoors—you’d have been welcome.”
“I thought of it, Bill, but didn’t like to waken you up. Anyhow, at the finish she’d a spoonful of honey in hot water, and that kind of eased her off to sleep. Then I’d got myself awake, and couldn’t get off again, so I’d to have a walk round the street an’ smoke of me pipe. I daren’t pull it out in the housewhen she’s a bit coughy——
“By the way,” said Mr Crater, turning to Corky, “ever been to a horse and pony sale? Naw? Well, that’s where we’re going. Looking for a little pony for you.”
“You should enjoy yourself a treat,” said Bill Posk.
There was quite a pother going on at the horse depository when the three walked in. Corky had never heard so much shouting, arguing, laughing, and excitement in all his life. The auction had begun, and a man with balloony cheeks and bushy eyebrows was banging a very much worn mallet on his desk.
“Gentlemen, I’m bid forty-five, forty-five guineas for this fine Clydesdale mare. Who’ll make it fifty? Who’ll bid me fifty? Forty-seven from a gentleman over there! I’m asking fifty—I say I’m asking fifty for this magnificent mare! Who’ll bid me fifty? Forty-eight from a bidder on my right! Come on, gentlemen—I could do better in a cemetery with the gates shut! You ought to be ashamed to look the animal in the face, I know I am. Ah, I’ve got a nod from a gentleman behind. Fifty guineas! Any advance on fifty? What, no advance on fifty guineas? She’s a gift at the price! Is there no sportsman ’ud care to bid me fifty-five guineas?—before I bring the hammer down? All done. Sure? Going ... Going ... Gone! All weighed—all paid—to the gent behind. ...”
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