about it.… ”
“Mr. Dancer?” Bill asked. “I don’t believe I know him.”
“I guess you wouldn’t at that. He’s Finn’s new backer. He put up the money to get him started in New York. Anyway, when he heard Lord Oliver wanted Panic tamed before the Queen of England he insisted that they go if only for the publicity.”
“I can understand that … knowing Finn,” Bill said. “I can also understand why he didn’t want to take on such a horse
alone.
”
“Yeah,” the other agreed knowingly. He turned suddenly to a nearby stall where an ugly brown horse was kicking savagely against the sides. “Quiet!” he shouted angrily.
“Is that horse to be driven by Finn?” Bill asked.
The stable manager grinned. “Him? Finn tames him ’bout twice a week. He’s part of the act.”
“How long do you work on him before he’s exhibited?” Bill asked without meeting the other’s eyes.
“Twenty-four hours without food or water usuallydoes it. Leaves enough fire in him to put on a good show without makin’ it too hard for Finn to get control. He’s a good subject, all right. I guess you an’ Finn never had one as good as him. He’s real ugly-lookin’, scares the daylights out of people.”
Bill Dailey turned away. “No, we didn’t have any like him,” he replied. “C’mon, Hank.”
“I’ll tell Finn you were here,” the stable manager called after them.
“I’ll tell him myself,” Bill answered. “I’m stickin’ around.”
B OSS H ORSE -T AMER
13
That same week Bill Dailey rented a small livery stable on 61st Street. He announced to the public through the newspapers that he was prepared to help owners in “the education of their horses.” He offered no extraordinary tricks and did not claim himself to be the “World’s Greatest Horse-Tamer.” Modestly he stated that although he had no more special fitness for this work than most people, having spent much time with horses he had gotten to know their ways and temperament. He could teach owners how best to get along with their horses and make them their friends.
For the first time in Bill Dailey’s career there was little response to his offer of help. This could have been due either to his complete lack of showmanship or to a feeling, on the part of the people of New York City, that they had nothing more to learn from professed horse-tamers. The few who did employ him had horseswith simple vices resulting from poor management. Bill had little trouble correcting them and they came and went without fanfare.
The New York
Standard
said of his work, “Professor Dailey spends more time educating owners than their horses.” Such a statement did not bring more owners knocking on his door, for it seemed that New York horsemen did not like to be taught publicly.
At the end of two weeks Bill said, “I guess New York’s not for us, Hank.”
“Folks here don’t want to be taught,” his brother agreed. “They want entertainment.”
“Maybe so. At least most of ’em seem to think there’s no controlling a bad horse unless you have some magical powers.”
“We’re farm people,” Hank said. “Let’s go back to those who really
want
your help and need it.”
“No, I’m stickin’ around to see Finn.”
“What good is it going to do even if you can expose him for what he is?”
“It might help some horses,” Bill replied quietly.
“No one will believe you,” his brother said. “He’s too popular.”
“In a way that’s why intelligent horsemen aren’t coming to us now with their problem horses. They’ve known too many men like Finn Caspersen. They’re scared to trust a good horse to us for treatment. But some people might listen. And if I could prove to ’em …” His voice drifted off and his eyes were half-closed in his planning.
The next day the newspapers carried a glowing account of Finn Caspersen’s conquest of Panic in England.
As Bill said, it sounded exactly as if Finn had written the article
“Mr. Dancer?” Bill asked. “I don’t believe I know him.”
“I guess you wouldn’t at that. He’s Finn’s new backer. He put up the money to get him started in New York. Anyway, when he heard Lord Oliver wanted Panic tamed before the Queen of England he insisted that they go if only for the publicity.”
“I can understand that … knowing Finn,” Bill said. “I can also understand why he didn’t want to take on such a horse
alone.
”
“Yeah,” the other agreed knowingly. He turned suddenly to a nearby stall where an ugly brown horse was kicking savagely against the sides. “Quiet!” he shouted angrily.
“Is that horse to be driven by Finn?” Bill asked.
The stable manager grinned. “Him? Finn tames him ’bout twice a week. He’s part of the act.”
“How long do you work on him before he’s exhibited?” Bill asked without meeting the other’s eyes.
“Twenty-four hours without food or water usuallydoes it. Leaves enough fire in him to put on a good show without makin’ it too hard for Finn to get control. He’s a good subject, all right. I guess you an’ Finn never had one as good as him. He’s real ugly-lookin’, scares the daylights out of people.”
Bill Dailey turned away. “No, we didn’t have any like him,” he replied. “C’mon, Hank.”
“I’ll tell Finn you were here,” the stable manager called after them.
“I’ll tell him myself,” Bill answered. “I’m stickin’ around.”
B OSS H ORSE -T AMER
13
That same week Bill Dailey rented a small livery stable on 61st Street. He announced to the public through the newspapers that he was prepared to help owners in “the education of their horses.” He offered no extraordinary tricks and did not claim himself to be the “World’s Greatest Horse-Tamer.” Modestly he stated that although he had no more special fitness for this work than most people, having spent much time with horses he had gotten to know their ways and temperament. He could teach owners how best to get along with their horses and make them their friends.
For the first time in Bill Dailey’s career there was little response to his offer of help. This could have been due either to his complete lack of showmanship or to a feeling, on the part of the people of New York City, that they had nothing more to learn from professed horse-tamers. The few who did employ him had horseswith simple vices resulting from poor management. Bill had little trouble correcting them and they came and went without fanfare.
The New York
Standard
said of his work, “Professor Dailey spends more time educating owners than their horses.” Such a statement did not bring more owners knocking on his door, for it seemed that New York horsemen did not like to be taught publicly.
At the end of two weeks Bill said, “I guess New York’s not for us, Hank.”
“Folks here don’t want to be taught,” his brother agreed. “They want entertainment.”
“Maybe so. At least most of ’em seem to think there’s no controlling a bad horse unless you have some magical powers.”
“We’re farm people,” Hank said. “Let’s go back to those who really
want
your help and need it.”
“No, I’m stickin’ around to see Finn.”
“What good is it going to do even if you can expose him for what he is?”
“It might help some horses,” Bill replied quietly.
“No one will believe you,” his brother said. “He’s too popular.”
“In a way that’s why intelligent horsemen aren’t coming to us now with their problem horses. They’ve known too many men like Finn Caspersen. They’re scared to trust a good horse to us for treatment. But some people might listen. And if I could prove to ’em …” His voice drifted off and his eyes were half-closed in his planning.
The next day the newspapers carried a glowing account of Finn Caspersen’s conquest of Panic in England.
As Bill said, it sounded exactly as if Finn had written the article
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