Free I Own the Racecourse! by Patricia Wrightson Page B

‘ My sainted aunt! ’
    Round the corner came Andy and a straggling pack of dogs, his friends of the streets and lanes. They were of odd shapes, colours, sizes and dispositions. A dachshund and a curly-tailed ginger pup frolicked at his heels. Something that looked like an airedale, but mostly white, trotted along a few feet to the right. On the left, silent and stealthy, sidled two elderly fox terriers. A large black dog with a patch of shiny bare skin on its back loped along behind and grinned cheerfully. In front strutted a very small pup with long creamy hair, a stumpy tail and a cocky expression. From time to time it looked back to make sure that the rest were still following. All the other dogs ignored it, glancing only at Andy and sidling away from each other. Andy chuckled at them, snapped his fingers occasionally, and waved to his four astonished friends.
    â€˜ Now you’ll see. You’ll bust laughing.’
    He stood just outside the gate with his eyes fixed on the track, keeping the dogs by him with an absent-minded whistle and snap of the fingers. Farther down the street, Charlie Willis and another boy were dawdling.
    â€˜Andy!’ cried Joe, thoroughly alarmed. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You can’t bring a pack of strays in here! Do you want to end up in gaol?’
    The whining of the hare came closer, and the thing itself cruised into sight on the inside of the track. It was travelling at half-speed; there were no greyhounds following. Andy spoke urgently to his dogs and they all milled forward through the gate.
    â€˜There he goes, boys—get him! Sick him! On to him, boys!’
    The dachshund and the curly-tailed pup at once hurled themselves at the track. The small creamy pup uttered a volley of yelps and scuttered after them. The terriers streaked off, low to the ground and deadly silent. The airedale and the black dog leapt forward in great, strong bounds. The whole many-coloured pack was strung out on the floodlit green of the track. The whine of the hare went suddenly shrill as it slid forward in a startled way. The creamy pup kept up a shrill yip-yip.
    Andy was roaring with laughter. ‘Look at them go, look at them go! They nearly had him that time!’ Terry was chuckling, Mike grinning, while Matt hung on to the gate and laughed nearly as much as Andy. Joe chuckled in a helpless and horrified way with his eyes fixed on the track. The crazy, strung-out field, with the dachshund in front and the silky pup yelping in the rear, swung away into the curve of the track. Meeting a group of angry, shouting men, they swerved under the rails, scattered and disappeared. The deep, dangerous baying of excited greyhounds drowned the sound of the hare. Andy sat down on the grass inside the gate and went on laughing.
    â€˜I’m going,’ said Mike. ‘Andy! Come out of that. There’s some pretty big blokes over there, and they don’t look too pleased. Come on, get a move on!’
    â€˜Eh?’ said Andy. ‘What are you going for? Aren’t you coming in to watch? Hey, Joe—aren’t you coming in?’
    â€˜No, I’m not,’ said Joe sternly. ‘Come on , Andy.’
    Andy turned away from them with a movement of resignation. He had lost them again. None of their muttered calls seemed to reach him, so they retreated to the corner of the street and watched from there for a minute or two. After that, since nothing seemed to be happening, they went away.
    Matt was shaking his head in an astonished way. ‘Old Andy—would you believe it! What’s come over him?’
    They walked on for several yards, leaning forward to climb the hill. Then Mike said, ‘He’s bought a racecourse.’
    Terry curled his lip. ‘He’s wasted his money, then. He’ll soon find out what the trainers think of him racing strays.’
    â€˜I don’t know what his mother’d say,’ said Joe, worrying. ‘If