LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Do the horses know the difference between false alarms and real ones?” Charley asked.

      “Why, certainly,” was the reply, “a horse knows he's going to a fire. I know he does, and every man who knows anything about a fire horse knows so too. With all their mad rush as they go down the street they are cautious, and they don't rely on the driver's rein to tell time the gong strikes and not start with the engine. He frets and worries and whinnies and acts just as teased as a horse can. They get to know some signals though, and they play us some cute tricks. Now, at noon every day every engine company gets the time on the gong from headquarters, and the horses come out as usual. But some of 'em get to know that they never go out of the house on that signal, and they whirl around after coming to the pole and get back to the stalls again. The men who have to snap the collars have to be mighty quick or they them when to turn out of the way of an obstruction. They get to know the location of hydrants in their district and they pull right up to them. They can tell when they're coming near a fire just as well as the driver can, and when they smell the smoke or see the blaze they give a lively tug on the engine. I think a horse can tell whether it is a big fire or not, too. The noise of other engines they hear going to the fire excites them. When they get to the fire, too, they're alive, you bet. You know the place of a horse on a tender at a fire is at the back of the engine. Well, when a horse has pulled the tender right up to the burning building, so that the men can use the hose, after the hose is unwound the horse will turn and trot back to its engine, just as unconcernedly as can be, and will pick its engine out from all the others.

      “It's a queer thing about the likes and dislikes horses will take. They are just as queer about that as men and women are. Of course, horses are of all kinds and some will let anybody pet 'em and some wont let anybody come near 'em while they are in the stalls. But often a horse will take a great notion or a great aversion to some one man in the company. I was in a company once six years with a team of horses, and one of the horses would always kick at the assistant foreman whenever he got a chance. Sure as death, whenever Dick got behind that horse, the horse'd raise on him. Dick was a kind, good enough feller, too. That same horse'd let any other man in the company do what he wanted with him.

      “A good many of these stories are true about horses that have been in the service of the department and mustered out, minding the gong when they happen to hear it, and getting excited and going to fires when an engine passes them on the street. I remember once driving an engine down Broadway on the run, and we passed an old, worn-out, miserable-looking horse on one of the street-cleaning department's carts. The man who was loading the cart had just, put an ash can on the cart wheel as we passed, and was getting ready to dump it. The old horse pricked up his ears, gave a big snort, and started after us pell mell, scattering the ashes right and left. He was an old fire-horse, sure enough. We turned a corner, and I don't know whether they ever stopped him or not. A good many of our horses go into the streetcleaning department when we get through with them. We keep horses till they get pretty old, though, if they are good ones. Old horses know the ropes so well that they are good to have around, but, of course, we can't keep 'em always, and they lose their snap after a while.”

      “That reminds me,” said Mr. Graham, “of the story of a horse that had been in an English cavalry regiment and was sold in his old age and put to the prosaic work of hauling a common cart. One day some cavalrymen were exercising and were rather taken by surprise when a horse dragging a cart laden with sand came among them and took his place in line as though he belonged there. The carter who owned the horse came rushing after him, and when the officer scolded him for what the animal had done the poor man protested that he couldn't tell why he did it. The horse started at the sound of the trumpet and his owner was unable to control him.

      “Inquiry into the history of the horse showed that he had been for a long time in the cavalry service, and the officers were so well pleased with his performance that they bought him for a good price and relieved him from dragging a cart for the future.”

      “There are many stories of the same sort,” continued Mr. Graham, “all tending to show that the horse has an excellent memory. In one of the books there is a funny anecdote of how a clergyman's wife was once dragged around in her carriage by a horse that had belonged to an artillery company. She had gone in her carriage to witness an artillery parade, and when the company began its evolutions the horse could not be restrained but joined in the exercise. Round and round he dragged the lady in spite of her screams and also in spite of all that the driver could do in his efforts to check the steed. It was not a graceful performance for a clergyman's wife to be engaged in, and the animal was sold and sent elsewhere very soon afterward.”

      “Yes,” said Captain Shea, “and there's the old chestnut of a story about the war-horse that had been sold to a milkman and was used by his daughter for carrying milk to customers. She had a can of milk hung at each side of the saddle and used to go around in this way to serve out the article where it was wanted.

      “The same thing happened as in the other cases. There was a troop of cavalry getting ready for the parade, and as the trumpeter gave a signal the milk-horse went in and took his place in the ranks; the girl couldn't stop him and he didn't seem to mind the fact that he wasn't at all equipped like the rest. The milk-cans were not exactly a part of a cavalryman's outfit, but that wasn't any affair of the horse. He knew the bugle-call and was obeying orders.”

      On the way home from the training school of the fire department several other stories of the same sort were given, but as they were all illustrative of what we have mentioned it is hardly necessary to repeat them. It is proper to say that the memory of the youths was a great deal freshened by what they heard, and they did their part in recalling stories of equine intelligence.

      “While you are waiting for your horses, as I may not be able to find suitable ones immediately,” said Mr. Graham, “you had better give your attention to some of the books which tell about these animals.”

      “What books shall we get, father?” said Charley, when the foregoing suggestion was made.

      “There are several excellent works about horses,” was the reply, “but I will not give you a large number at the start. There is a large volume called 'The Book of The Horse,' by Mr. Sidney, which I would advise you to get, and there's 'Horse and Man,' by Rev. J. G. Wood, the author of Wood's 'Natural History' and kindred works. 'The Book of The Horse' is a companion to 'The Book of The Dog,' and tells a great deal you will wish to know; it not only describes the different varieties of the horse but gives directions for arranging their stalls, caring for them in health and illness, training them for the saddle or to harness, and for nearly everything belonging to the animal we are discussing. You'll find enough in it to keep you busy for some time.”

      Mr. Graham wrote an order for his bookseller to deliver these books to the boys, and as soon as they obtained the volumes they had no thought of anything except to peruse the pages. What they learned in the course of their reading we will ascertain in the next chapter.

      On their way home the youths met Mr. Webb, the gentleman who had given them so much advice relative to the training of Rover and Dash. They told him about their father's promise and he congratulated them on their good fortune.

      As they were separating Mr. Webb told them he had just received a letter from an old friend, George M. Elwood, of Rochester, New York, who was like himself a great lover of dogs. “He tells me an interesting story about a dog,” said Mr. Webb, “and I know you will enjoy it. Dogs and horses go together,” he continued, “and this dog story will equal any horse story that you are likely to hear.”

      So saying he drew a letter from his pocket and read the following extract:

      “About the year 1840 my father, James L. Elwood, then living in Rochester, N. Y., owned a very fine dog that enjoyed a considerable degree of local celebrity.

      

      He rejoiced in the ambitious name of Bonaparte, being familiarly called 'Boney,' which latter name

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