The Story of Ginger

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLVIII, Issue 21819, 23 November 1940, Page 11

The Story of Ginger

CHAPTER 1 Beverley Hargrave unfastened the heavy chain that guarded the entrance to the stables of the Woodward Riding Club. Inside, she fastened it. A couple of carrots, stuck out of one pocket of her riding breeches; tiny cubes of sugar lay in the palm of one hand. There were about 20 horses in their stalls, but Beverley had eyes for only one. “Hello, Ginger,” she called, as a small black horse stuck its head out of the stall. “Want a carrot, old boy And how about some sugar?” As Ginger ate her offerings eagerly, Beverley looked at him sadly. Soon, it would be good-bye to Ginger—Gingef whom few people liked or wished to ride, except herself. People said that Ginger was getting old and cranky and wouldn't do as he was told when people rods him. He would, stand in the middle of the bridle path and refuse to move. "Ginger”—everybody made fun of that name. "Sleepy” would have been a better one, they all'/said. “Ginger,” Beverley said, "if you. would only be good and trot when people want you to and gallop whqti they want you to, you could stay here. If you could only begin to-day by being good, everything in the past would be forgotten; people would like you. What am I going to do without you? Today we will show the riding master what a good horse you are. Ginger." Then, watched by Ralph, Henshawer the boy who helped around- the stable, Beverley and Ginger did their favourite act. Leaving the stall open, Beverley went outside and called “Come, Ginger! . Come to Beverley!” And the little black horse trotted out eagerly and put his soft nose against Beverley’s jacket, begging for more sugar. Ralph Henshawe watched the scene with interest. “I declare, Miss Beverley,” he said, "Ginger acts like a real horse when you are around. I almost agree with you that he is a smart little 'piece when I see him with you. Maybe if the rest understood him as you do. he’d straighten up and go places. There are some , who know how to handle horses and some who don’t. And the finer the horse, the more he knows the difference and takes offence at the dumb ones. Ginger’s all right with me, too. I never have a bit of trouble with him.” "Oh, Ralph, can’t you say something to Mr Kingman Maybe he’ll take both of our words for it if he won’t take mine.” “I don’t dare say any .more,” Ralph answered ruefully. Beverley patted Ginger for several more moments, helped Ralph put on his saddle and mounted. Together Beverley and Ginger rode out on the bridle path that led around the hill. In the distance below they saw the bay. Ginger trotted contentedly. How could the riding club afford to send away such a good horse? Yet it was Ginger’s fault. Why should he be so stubborn with other people. He was so friendly and eager and obedient with her. Harry Kingman, the master of the club, was standing on the porch of the club-house when they rode in. He followed Beverley and Ginger into the stables. “Ginger Is a grand horse,” Beverley remarked as she dismounted giving Ralph the reins. Mr Kingman stood with his hands on his hips, looking first at Ginger and then at Beverley. “You are about the only one who thinks so.” “But he behaved so well to-day Mr Kingman. Ginger was not the slightest bit slow or stubborn.” “Maybe,” he replied, "but I think we shall be getting rid of him soon. It is not profitable for the club to keep and feed a horse which only one person

wants to ride. We can’t lose the money. Oh, cheer up. Beverley. What's one horse when there are so many others?” - ■. “There’s only one Ginger,” Beverley said softly, turning to watch Ralpn lead him into his stall. At dinner Beverley told her mother and father about Ginger. “You can see why the master wants to get rid of him. Beverley, can’t you ” Mrs Hargrave asked. “Yes, mother. That’s business.” Mr Hargrave looked at Beverley sympathetically. “Like my offee,” he said. ”If we have a man who won’t work and treats the customers with disrespect, well—what can we do?” “I understand,” Beverley said. “But I have faith in Ginger. I know he is old and stubborn, but I believe in him.”

She buttered a piece of bread. “Dad?" “Yes?” “Wouldn’t you like to buy Ginger for me?” Mr Hargrave gulped as he swallowed hot soup. Mrs Hargrave laughed. “You should have given your father a warning, Beverley.” “I’m sorry,” Beverley said, “but I thought of it rather suddenly. Will you buy Ginger for me?” “Afraid not,” Mr Hargrave said. “But Ginger won’t cost much, dad.” “Not to buy him, Beverley, but to feed him and take care of him will. We cannot afford that. If we didn’t have to feed him, I would buy him for you.” She nodded, her eyes full of tears. Three days later, Beverley went out to the club. Ginger was not in his stall. She found Ralph coming from the direction of the club house. “Where’s Ginger?” she called fearful that he must have been sent away. “A lady took him but about an hour ago. Shall I saddle King for you Ginger will be back soon, but I don’t think you ought to ride him until he gets some rest.” “All right, Ralph, I’ll ride King today.” , . Ralph unfastened the chain to let King and Beverley out of the stables. Beverley took the bridle path along the highway. Crossing the road she began to climb a little hill and then, following the bridle path that went up and down glades, she trotted and cantered. King was a good horse, younger, quicker, and better tempered than Ginger. But Beverley had a soft spot in her heart for Ginger. Why, she did not know. She just liked that little Vlack horse. On the ridge stood a riderless horse. It was Ginger. (To be continued.)