Just keepin’ watch on him, that’s all. And Alec”—he paused—“I know how your folks feel about your goin’ to school.”

“I know, Henry,” Alec replied, almost curtly. “I know, but this is important.”

“School’s important, too,” Henry said slowly. “You once’t told me you wanted to know all there was to know about horses … what went on inside ’em as well as outside. An’ in your letters to me while you were at school y’said the subjects you were takin’ were just what you wanted, like animal anatomy and those other things you mentioned.”

“You never had them,” Alec said quietly.

“Sure, and mebbe I’d be a better trainer if I’d had,” Henry insisted. Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “It’s your life, Alec. Play it the way you want to. I’m jest sayin’ that it’s goin’ to take months and months for the colt to grow up an’ our real trainin’ won’t begin until then.”

Alec was silent as the van reached Flushing. There was a lot to what Henry said, he knew. But he had waited a long time for the arrival of his colt, and now that Satan was here he wanted to be with him every day. He wanted to feed him, take care of him, watch him playing in the field, just as he’d done with the Black. And then when the time came, he’d ride him around the field until Henry said the colt was ready to be taken to the track for workouts. It would probably be Belmont, since that track was the nearest to Flushing. And they’d have night workouts, too, so no one would get an inkling of Satan’s speed.

Henry said, “You’ll get the registration blanks from the Jockey Club?”

Nodding, Alec answered, “Tomorrow, Henry.”

“Y’know where it is?”

“Two-fifty Park Avenue.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Then, thoughtfully, “All you’ll need will be the certificate of identification for the veterinary to fill out after he’s examined the colt. Then y’send that back together with the colt’s pedigree which Abu sent you in his letter. There’s a five-dollar fee, too.”

“Yes, I know, Henry. I’ve already checked up on it.”

“How about the vet?”

“There’s Hancock in Flushing,” Alec replied. “He’s a friend of ours and won’t charge me much.”

“It’s going to cost money, Alec, training and racing Satan.”

“I’ve saved for it. I’ll get more,” Alec said.

“And I’ve got some.”

Alec turned to Henry. “You needn’t …”

“I know I needn’t,” Henry grinned, “but we’re partners, ain’t we?”

Smiling, Alec said, “Yes, partners.” He sat back in his seat, relaxed and content. There were problems ahead, of course, but they weren’t insurmountable, and somehow he and Henry would work them out together. “I’ll get an application for an owner’s license, too, Henry,” he said. “Just think … my horse, my colors, and me up there on his back, Henry!” Excitedly, Alec half-turned in his seat; then, as he saw Henry’s face, he stopped short.

“Your horse,” the old man was muttering in a voice so low Alec could barely make out his words, “… and you riding him.” Turning to Alec, he said, “I’m a fool. A blasted old fool. You can’t do it, Alec … it’s no go.”

“Can’t do what, Henry? What can’t I do?”

The old man said sorrowfully, “I should have thought of it. Shoulda thought of it before this.” He paused, then said slowly, “Y’can’t own and ride Satan both. It’s in the rules … a jockey can’t own a race horse.”

“You mean … You’re sure, Henry? It’s in the rules of racing?” Alec’s voice was emotionless, dead.

“Yes, Alec, I’m certain.” And then as the moments swept by without Alec’s saying a word, Henry asked, “You want to ride, don’tcha?” Henry knew what Alec’s answer would be even before the boy nodded. “Okay, then, it ain’t so bad, Alec, really. There’s your dad … have him register the horse in his name. There’s nothin’ in the rules which says a jock can’t ride his father’s horse.