by Larry M. Harris
[Pseudonym of Laurence M. Janifer]
=Lots of people think they can beat the races. Willy Dunstan knew he
could. But in the long run, no nutty inventor’s gimmick is going to
be able to=
=Replace The Horse=
The only trouble with Willy Dunstan was that he was a scientist.
Of course, things wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d only been a
fair-to-middling scientist, or even a downright poor one. But no. Willy
had to be a good scientist. That was what ruined him, and ruined me,
too.
My name’s Arthur Holly, and by profession I’m a trainer. It’s my job to
see that the horses are always in shape, always ready to go at whatever
track happens to be open. And I’m pretty good, too. If I hadn’t been
good I’d never have had the idea of going into business for myself, and
none of this would have happened.
But, you see, I got the chance to buy this plug....
A plug is a decrepit horse, of no use to anybody and damn little use to
himself. Naturally, the animal wasn’t described to me as a plug. Greg
called him a Business Opportunity. “This is your chance to start your
own stable,” he said. “This horse is a winner, going at a sacrifice
price--confidentially, the owner doesn’t realize what he’s got and he
just wants to get rid of the animal at a good price.”
Naturally, that made me suspicious right from the start, and when I saw
the horse I was more than suspicious; I was sick. Greg had done his
best to spruce the poor thing up, but you can’t disguise a swaybacked,
emptybellied, crosseyed old plug enough so I can’t tell what it is.
“I tell you the horse is a terrific buy,” Greg whispered to me behind
his hand. The animal was up for auction, of course. Not that there were
many buyers. I was there with Greg, a couple of small owners were there
trying to look smart and calculating, and a tall, thin guy with glasses
and no hair was there, too.
“He’s a terrific buy for a glue factory,” I said, and sat on my hands.
I watched the horse go, at last, for one hundred and thirty-five
dollars, and I thought no more about it. I’d wasted an afternoon, but
it was my own fault. I should have listened to that little voice inside
that starts to talk to me whenever Greg comes around.
I did notice that the buyer was the tall, thin guy with the glasses and
no hair. But what was that to me? Nothing.
* * * * *
Until Greg came along a couple of days later. “I know a guy who’s
looking for a trainer,” he told me.
I was clocking Blue Joy at the time, and I didn’t answer him until
she’d crossed the finish line: a beautiful mare, three years old with
the wind and staying power of a colt. A winner if I ever saw one.
I pushed the stopwatch shut and turned around. “I’m _working_ for a guy
who needs a trainer,” I said.
“This guy I know,” Greg said, “he wants to make his trainer half-owner
of the stables. Would I come to you if it wasn’t a good deal?”
Well, of course he would. I reminded him of the plug I’d gone down to
buy.
“Now, that’s a funny coincidence,” Greg said, and I laid back my ears
and got ready to run. Greg’s funny coincidences are the only things in
the world that mean more trouble than his Business Opportunities. But
Greg didn’t notice; he went right on. “Remember the guy who bought that
plug?”
The tall thin guy with the g. and the no h. Sure, I remembered him.
“Well, he’s the guy who wants a trainer-owner,” Greg said.
Oh, fine. I didn’t want to work with the plug I’d seen, and any guy
who’d buy that one probably had a stable full of equally sad animals.
“He’s a scientist,” Greg said. “He’s got some new ideas.”
And that didn’t make me feel any happier, let me tell you. I know
enough of those college-trained characters; we have had them as
stableboys and walkers, and every notion in their heads is just more
sawdust and nonsense. Never saw a college boy yet who made a good horse
handler. Never expect to see one. And a scientist with lots of new
ideas didn’t sound good.
“At least come down and see him,” Greg said. “What can you lose?”
“An afternoon,” I said. But I came.
Why?
God only knows. I know this much: I wish I hadn’t.
* * * * *
The guy who’d bought the plug was a scientist, all right. For a track
and stables he’d bought an old sinkhole of a place the former owner
had been trying to get rid of for ten years; the ground was rocky and
got kind of swampy during wet weather. He had five animals, all of
them horrible plugs like the one I’d seen him buy. He led that one
out to the track, saddled up, climbed on and handed me down a pair of
binoculars. “Follow the horse with these,” he said.
“I’m standing trackside,” I said. “What do I need with binocs?”
“Don’t argue,” he said. “Follow the horse with these. Time me if you
want to. But keep the glasses trained on the horse.”
And he started off. I figured I might as well humor the guy, and I
watched him through the binocs as he went around. He was a hell of
a jockey. He sat straight as a poker in the saddle, with a kind of
frightened expression on his face, and he kept one hand on the reins
and one on his glasses so they wouldn’t fall off. It was something to
see.
Only it wasn’t funny.
That plug, carrying a jockey who weighed maybe a hundred and sixty,
sixty-five pounds, a full saddle, and weight distributed all wrong
because the guy was sitting so stiff, went around the crazy, stony
track like a piece of the wind.
By my clock, he beat Blue Joy’s time.