he had planned not to showMan oâ War to his best advantage so that perhaps he wouldnât be sold. And yet it would hurt him very much if people didnât see the beauty and fine qualities of his colt. He was a mixed-up kid.
âRedâs a fine yearling, all right,â the old man agreed. âMaybe the best of the lot from the way he ran in pasture.â
âBut the buyers wonât know how fast he can go.â
âNo, but theyâll see heâs bred right. Anâ theyâll see how well he fits together. Theyâll start with his head. Itâs not too big or too small for the rest of him.â
âAnd his eyes are large and clear with a strong look of boldness,â Danny said. âThatâs important.â
The old man nodded. âSpaced wide apart, that means heâs smart,â he said. âNo bulges between âem, either. Keen and bold, thatâs Red.â
âAnd his neck is right â¦Â the right length, the right proportion,â Danny went on, proud of his colt.
âHis shoulder is good, too. Theyâll look for that next.â
Danny ran his hand over the angle of the shoulder blade. âIt slopes the way it should, from point of shoulder to middle of withers. Thatâs why he has that long, swinging stride in pasture.â
âMaybe so, Danny. Anâ see how deep he is through the chest. Plenty of room for lungs as well as heart.â
Danny put his arms around his colt. âThereâs nothing small about him. His heart is as big as the rest of him. Heâs going to make a racehorse. Iâm sure of it.â
The old man shook his shaggy gray head. âNothinâs sure in this business, Danny-boy,â he said. âSome of the best runninâ horses Iâve seen looked like nags. Thatâs why a lot of folks here will be buyinâ colts on bloodlines only. They wonât care what a colt looks like jusâ as long as he comes from a good family on each side.â
Danny shrugged his shoulders. âI guess they got to start somewhere,â he said.
The old man glanced at his big gold watch. âItâs near eight oâclock and jusâ about time for them to look us over. Mind your business now, Danny. Anâ remember what I said. Donât you go showinâ this colt in the stall to anyone. You take him out anâ stand him right. That way you be as proud as he is.â
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 oâ War ready for inspection. Oh, he didnât have his colt as groomed and polished as he could have done. But he had put the catalog hip number on Man oâ 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 oâ War; only then would he take the big colt from his stall.
Meanwhile, he studied these would-be purchasers of Man oâ 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
Kent Flannery, Joyce Marcus