Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-01-09

Summer which has passed. and found
Uncle Joe Fodder washing a buggy.
He yisibly summoned his courage to
ask:
these stables?
Uncle Joe stopped his chamois in a
five.galIon pail and twisted it dry. Il
do" said he. What you after,
lig?"
"a job dom WHAT"
Looking after horses"
But ] don't need no hostler.
Scarcely got business enough these
days to keep myself. What you know
about horses"
"That's mostly the trouble. 1 know
nothing else.
To@be confronted. by a youngster
who professed to know nothing but
horses in this day Of spark.plugs ana
motor cops was so unusual that the
old man Strengthened.
'How come you know nothin' but
horses? What's your name. and what
you doin' here to Paris?'
"Wade's my name-Barnaby Wade.
Thought I'd come up and try for
lob looking after horses. I been hang
ing around Saratoga all SPRING
my gosh You amt Wade the
jockey"
The other nodded, his thin lips
tightening II was" he confessed,
''till / took a bad spill at Belmont"
SAY, I've heard o. you. Seen a
piece in the paper bout your accident.
For gosh sakes, come into my office.
There are few such stables as Uncle
Joe's now left in Vermont. The ga
RACES have driven them out. Even
Uncle Joe's business has dwindled to
lofffnc nf nf hic
three little Morgan mares, boarding
the rigs of the American Express Co.
or caring for the Percherons that pull
the street department carts. Its
proprietor is an old Civil War veteran.
His dusty felt hat, with Sits for ven
tilation. always shows cobwebs, or &C.
casional haystalks; his corncob pipe
is a town institution.
He turned up the lamp. for the sun
was now sinking and the place full of
shadows. He brought out his pipe
mechanically.
so you quit ridin'?" he demanded.
Yes, sir. l had to. When l get in
a saddle now-and the horse starts
Notwithstanding back in my head
stops working" The boys lip quiv-
cred. They say I've lost my nerve.
I dunno. l went down to Kentucky
last year and tried my best to come
back But 'twasn't any use. / might
take up something else. of course, but
Il can't, l can't"
You got any folks"
NO, sir. My uncle, Ben Wade,
owner of Flying Raven. died five years
ago-after raising and training me.
I'm glad he did. before l smashed.
He couldn't have stood IL.
You got any money!"
mo, sir. I'm broke. walked over
here from Montpelier. Spent my last
red there for grub
But it's 80 miles to Montpelier"
Yes. sir,
"when'd you leave there?"
yesterday morning"
you amt ct nothin' since yester-
day mornin'?''
NO, sir
We'll, come out along with me to
the lunch Cart
Couldn't I stay around here and
do something's it's only for my keep
Atill I land something better that
pays real money!"
Guess you could sleep in my barn.
IL you got no other place to go. Come
along with me, anyhow, out TO the
cart. Wen swallow some beans and
talk things over"
To this old veteran 1t was like
entertaining fallen royalty-aiding
Barnaby Wade. who, five years ago,
rode Flying Raven TO spectacular vic
tory at Churchill Downs. And yet he
was only boy-a heartsick, home
stiffened from compound fracture of
the knee.
THE next night the Daily Tele.
graph carried a story of Jockey
w. 49, t..
horsemen from all over the country
stopped at the red barns out behind
the Whitney House to make the
youthful celebritys acquaintance.
But the younger generation took his
advent with its tongue in its cheek.
The young buck element looked on
Barnaby Wade as a freakish vagrant
with a streak of yellow. Our local
prtncesses took note of his wistful
eyes and his painful limp, his slender
build and woeful Shyness, and put
him contemptuously down as effemi-
nate.
Subconsciously, too, the rest of the
community entertained a vague con-
tempt for an international celebrity
who could descend to washing rigs
and cleaning stables. And yet there
was pathos in the way he worked
over Uncle Joe's three remaining
mares.
For a month he did it, and Uncle
Joe contrived to spare him So a week.
He made himself a bed in the odor-
Gus office. Once, when a Percheron
became cast in the early hours of the
dawn. he disclosed that he knew more
about raising her than Doc Rickley,
the veterinary.
One morning his couch was vacant.
He was mysteriously absent all day.
An hour before sunset he came scuf-
ming into the yard, his clothing torn
and blood on his face.
Moreover, he was pulling after him
the most pathetic horse that ever fur
niehed a $12 hide for Caleb Cridley' s
tannery-a rakish black horse of I'M
certain years that Vaguely resembled
a camel.
Where on earth have you been?"
demanded Uncle Joe. And where
did you get hold O. that"
Wade led the animal into the barn.
1t tried to lie down. but the boy truss
ed surcfngle under it's belly and
hitched 1t to a rafter-rope.
II been in a fight" he responded.
Il beat up gink named Levering."
You beat up gink named what?'
Jacob lowering. He was trying to
Kill this poor plug with stones"
Where?"
out west of town. I heard that a
man named Nesbitt run a stock farm
out toward Barre. l thought / could
get better paying job out there. Bu-
Nesbitt wasn't home, and spent the
day about his place. talking with
his men. Then ] started walking
back. L got along by that swell estate
up on the hill-the lowering place
and found a wop junkman had tried
TO camp on old Levering's property
This Levering'd come down to order
him off. They got in a fuss. Firs