Man O'War by Walter Farley Page A

he had planned not to showMan o’ War to his best advantage so that perhaps he wouldn’t be sold. And yet it would hurt him very much if people didn’t see the beauty and fine qualities of his colt. He was a mixed-up kid.
    â€œRed’s a fine yearling, all right,” the old man agreed. “Maybe the best of the lot from the way he ran in pasture.”
    â€œBut the buyers won’t know how fast he can go.”
    â€œNo, but they’ll see he’s bred right. An’ they’ll see how well he fits together. They’ll start with his head. It’s not too big or too small for the rest of him.”
    â€œAnd his eyes are large and clear with a strong look of boldness,” Danny said. “That’s important.”
    The old man nodded. “Spaced wide apart, that means he’s smart,” he said. “No bulges between ’em, either. Keen and bold, that’s Red.”
    â€œAnd his neck is right … the right length, the right proportion,” Danny went on, proud of his colt.
    â€œHis shoulder is good, too. They’ll look for that next.”
    Danny ran his hand over the angle of the shoulder blade. “It slopes the way it should, from point of shoulder to middle of withers. That’s why he has that long, swinging stride in pasture.”
    â€œMaybe so, Danny. An’ see how deep he is through the chest. Plenty of room for lungs as well as heart.”
    Danny put his arms around his colt. “There’s nothing small about him. His heart is as big as the rest of him. He’s going to make a racehorse. I’m sure of it.”
    The old man shook his shaggy gray head. “Nothin’s sure in this business, Danny-boy,” he said. “Some of the best runnin’ horses I’ve seen looked like nags. That’s why a lot of folks here will be buyin’ colts on bloodlines only. They won’t care what a colt looks like jus’ as long as he comes from a good family on each side.”
    Danny shrugged his shoulders. “I guess they got to start somewhere,” he said.
    The old man glanced at his big gold watch. “It’s near eight o’clock and jus’ about time for them to look us over. Mind your business now, Danny. An’ remember what I said. Don’t you go showin’ this colt in the stall to anyone. You take him out an’ stand him right. That way you be as proud as he is.”
    The last racehorse had taken his morning exercise on the tobacco-brown racing strip at Saratoga, and the last breakfast had been served on the clubhouse veranda. It was the time between morning works and the first race on the afternoon program. It was the time for people to inspect the sales yearlings and make important decisions.
    Danny had Man o’ War ready for inspection. Oh, he didn’t have his colt as groomed and polished as he could have done. But he had put the catalog hip number on Man o’ War so people would know what yearling they were looking at. That was enough. He was going to display his colt just so he would be appreciated, not sold. There was a big difference between the two, he told himself.
    Danny looked out of the stall and saw that the tree-shaded benches were already crowded with people who were paying little attention to one another. Their eyes were solely for the yearlings and the sales catalogs they held in their laps. Before long some of them would ask to see Man o’ War; only then would he take the big colt from his stall.
    Meanwhile, he studied these would-be purchasers of Man o’ War, perhaps as closely as they examined the yearlings parading before them. He saw one old lady sitting by herself and reading her catalog intently through large horn-rimmed glasses. Her lips moved silently, and every now and then she looked up to study the yearlings passing before her. She would then turn back to her catalog and make a pencil mark on thepage. Nearby others were doing the