LIGHTFOOT BUTTS A BOY
When Mike had quieted his joy and happiness down a bit, he explained
to his mother how it had come about. It seemed that as he was driving
Lightfoot about, hitched to the cart, and giving a number of children a
ride on a quiet street, a man had come up to Mike.
“I have a goat stand in the park,” the man explained. “I own a number
of goats and wagons, and hire boys to drive them. Would you like to
sell me your goat and wagon? I need another.”
“But I told him I wouldn’t sell Lightfoot,” Mike explained. “Then he
wanted me to hire my outfit to him at so much a week, but I wouldn’t do
that, for I wouldn’t let anybody but myself drive my goat.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mrs. Malony, who was almost as fond of Lightfoot
as was Mike himself. “What did the man say then?”
“Well, he wanted to know if I’d come to the park and drive the goat
myself. He said he’d give me eight dollars a week, but I said I could
earn more than that working for myself. Then he raised it to ten
dollars and I took him up.”
“But how does _he_ make any money out of it?” asked Mrs. Malony.
“Oh, he keeps all I take in over ten dollars, and I guess it will be
more than that lots of times, for big crowds of children go to the park
these Summer days. Then, too, we don’t give such long rides as I’ve
been giving. They charge only five cents a ride in the park, and I
charge ten sometimes, but then I go all around a big block.
“But I think it’ll be a good thing for us, Mother. Ten dollars a week
is a lot of money. Of course I’ll have to buy the feed for Lightfoot
out of that, and a bit of lunch for myself.”
“Sure, I can put that up for you in the morning,” said the widow with a
smile. “It’s great, Mike my boy! Sure we’ve had good luck ever since we
got Lightfoot.”
The next day, bright and early, Mike drove his goat and wagon to the
big park which was in the upper part of the city, not far from where
the squatters had built their shanties on the rocks.
“Well, I see you are on time,” said the man who had the privilege of
managing the goat wagons in the park. No wagons other than those he
permitted could come in to give the children rides, so if Mike had not
accepted his offer the boy could not have done a park business on his
own account.
“Yes, Lightfoot and I are all ready,” said Mike.
In a little while the other goats were brought from the stable in the
park where they were kept, and harnessed to small wagons. The wagons
were better painted than Mike’s, but were no cleaner nor larger. And as
a friend of his mother’s had given her a strip of bright red carpet,
Mike put this in the bottom of his goat cart, so that it looked gay and
cheerful.
“Huh! Got a new boy, it seems,” said one of the small drivers, as he
noticed Lightfoot and Mike.
“Yes, an’ if he tries to take away any of my customers he’ll get in
trouble,” said another, shaking his fist at Mike.
“Here, you boys! No quarreling!” said the manager of the goat wagons,
a Mr. Marshall. “You’ll all do as I say, and I won’t have any picking
on this boy. Business isn’t any too good, and I want you all to do your
best.”
Mike said nothing to the other boys, but he was not afraid to take his
own part.
The other goats looked at Lightfoot, and one, hitched to the wagon
driven by the boy who had spoken a bit crossly to Mike, said to
Lightfoot:
“Where did you come from?”
“From the high rocks,” answered Lightfoot.
“Do you mean the mountains?” asked another goat.
“I don’t know, but it’s over that way,” said Lightfoot, and he pointed
with his horns in the direction of Mike’s home.
“Oh, he means the rocks by the squatters’ shanties!” exclaimed the goat
who had first spoken. “Why, we can’t have anything to do with goats
like that! We give rides to well born children. This goat comes from a
very poor home indeed.
“What right have you got to come here among us?” he asked Lightfoot.
“I don’t know anything about it,” said Lightfoot. “I was driven here,
and I’ll do my best to give good rides to the children. I may not have
come from the mountains, but the rocks where I live are very high and
sweet grass grows on top. Can any of you jump from the high rocks down
on top of the widow’s shanty?”
“Thank you, we don’t live near shanties,” said another goat. “We live
in the park stable.”
“Just the same that was a good jump,” remarked a quiet goat, with short
horns. “I was over that way once. I think I know the place you mean,”
he went on to Lightfoot, and Mike’s goat was glad to know he had one
friend.
“Well, he may be a good jumper but I don’t believe he can butt hard
with his horns and head,” said the ill-tempered goat, who was called
Snipper from the habit he had of snipping off leaves and flowers in the
park.
“I once nearly butted a trolley car off the tracks,” said Lightfoot,
“and I did shove a little girl out of the way of the car.”
“Pooh! That’s nothing,” sneered Snipper. “Let’s see how hard you can
butt,” and he rose up on his hind legs and aimed his head and horns at
Lightfoot.
“Look out, Lightfoot!” cried Mike. But the new goat was ready for
Snipper. Rising on his own hind legs, Lightfoot butted the other goat
so hard that he nearly fell over backward into the cart.
“Good! Well butted!” cried the kindly, short-horned goat. “That was
fine!”
“You wouldn’t say so if you felt it,” bleated Snipper.
“Well, it was your own fault. You started the quarrel,” went on the
friendly goat.
“I can butt better than he can, and I’ll show him too, next time,”
grumbled Snipper, rubbing his head against a tree.
“Say!” cried the boy who had spoken roughly to Mike, “if your goat
doesn’t leave mine alone I――I’ll do something to you!”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” said Mike. “I’m not afraid of the likes of you.”
“Here, boys, stop your quarreling,” said the man. “Get ready now, some
children and their mothers are coming. Perhaps they may want rides.”
Along the path that led to the goat stand came a number of boys and
girls. Seeing them, the boys in charge of the goats called:
“Here you are for a ride! This way for a ride! We’ve got the best goats
in the park! Only five cents a ride!”
The children stopped. Some begged their fathers or mothers to let them
have a ride. One man, with a boy and girl consented.
“Which wagon and goat do you want?” asked the father.
For a moment the tots were undecided.
“Here, take mine! It’s the best!” cried the boy whose goat had been
butted by Lightfoot. For a moment the children seemed about to get into
that wagon, then the little girl cried:
“Oh, see what a pretty red carpet is in this wagon!” and she ran over
to Mike’s. “I want to ride in this!”
“So do I,” said her brother, and they got in. Mike was pleased and
happy, but the other boy, whose name was Henry, scowled.
“I’ll fix you for that,” he muttered to Mike, but Mike did not care. He
started Lightfoot down the park road and the goat drew the delighted
children swiftly and carefully.
Thus it was that Mike and Lightfoot began their work in the park.
From then on, for several weeks, Mike would take his goat and cart to
the stand every morning, and all day long he would drive parties of
children up and down. Lightfoot was growing stronger and more used to
harness and cart, and he could soon pull as well as the best goat in
the park.
Every Saturday night Mike took home ten dollars to his mother, and this
was the best of all. Of course Mike took in more than this from the
children who paid him for their rides, but all over ten dollars went
to Mr. Marshall. Out of the ten dollars Mike paid for hay and oats for
Lightfoot, for now that he had work to do, the goat could not live on
grass alone.
The other goats accepted Lightfoot for a friend now, and even Snipper
was on good terms with him, for they all saw that Lightfoot was as
strong as any of them and could take his own part. But Henry, the boy
who drove Snipper, did not make friends with Mike.
“I’ll get even with him some day,” he said.
[Illustration: “I want to ride in this!”]
And this is how he did it――not a very fair way, I should say. One noon
Mike took the harness off Lightfoot, and, putting a rope around the
goat’s neck, tied the other end to a tree, so Lightfoot would not stray
away, as he had once or twice, meaning nothing wrong. Mike’s mother had
not had time to put up his lunch that morning, so Mike went down to a
little restaurant in the park, intending to get a glass of milk and
some sandwiches.
“Now behave yourself, Lightfoot, while I’m gone. I’ll soon be back,”
said Mike.
Lightfoot wiggled his little stubby tail. Whether he understood or not
I can not say. He went on cropping grass, after he had eaten his hay
and other fodder.
In a little while Henry came along. He saw Lightfoot tethered all by
himself, the other goats having been taken to the stable. Henry looked
about, and, seeing no signs of Mike, took up a stick, and, going toward
Lightfoot, said:
“I’ll teach you to butt my goat! You won’t do it after I am through
with you!”
Then, with the stick, he fell to beating Lightfoot. At first Mike’s
goat did not know what to make of this. He looked up and seeing that
it was one of the goat-boys, but not Mike, thought maybe it was a new
kind of game. But as the blows from the stick fell harder and harder
Lightfoot knew that it was no game.
Whack! Bang! Whack! Henry beat the stick on Lightfoot’s back.
Lightfoot tried to get away, but the rope held him. Then, suddenly the
goat became angry, and you can not blame him. He knew he had strong
horns and a strong head, given him by nature to butt with and defend
himself.
“And I’m going to butt that boy who is beating me with the stick!”
thought Lightfoot. Before Henry knew what was happening Lightfoot
rushed straight at him with lowered head, and the next thing Henry knew
he found himself falling backward head over heels in the grass. The
goat had butted him down good and hard.
For a moment Henry lay dazed, hardly knowing what had happened. Then,
all of a sudden, Lightfoot felt sorry.
“My master would not want me to do this,” he said to himself. “Maybe he
will punish me when he comes back. I know what I’ll do; I’ll run away.”
With a strong jump, and a leap, Lightfoot broke off, close to his
neck, the rope that held him. And then, before Henry could get up, off
through the bushes in the park bounded Lightfoot. He had run away.