SO LONG, LITTLE BILLY
Two days later, on Monday afternoon, a maroon station wagon pulled into the Martin driveway, cut across the side yard, and stopped in front of the goat pen. Justin knew right away that it was Mr. Grimsted, because it said so in gold letters on the car door: Corky Grimsted, Animal Trainer & Entertainment Specialist. Justin could also see a large cage-type animal carrier in the back.
“Mom!” Justin said excitedly, “the man’s here about buying Little Billy.”
“Good,” Mom said, but she didn’t get up from the floor where she was helping Ruby and Kate cut out a skirt.
“Aren’t you going with me to talk to him?” he asked.
Mom didn’t even look up. “It’s your business, son. You handle it.”
Justin hadn’t expected to do it by himself, but Mom was right. It was his business. But what would he do if Mr. Grimsted wouldn’t give him the seventy-five dollars he had mentioned when they talked on the phone? Mr. Grimsted hadn’t actually said he would pay that much. He’d just said he would come out and take a look. If he offered less, should Justin take it? Or should he hold out for the price of the bike?
Mr. Grimsted leaned against the corral fence, talking to Chip and Luther. He was wearing a brown suit—a little too dressed up for a visit to a farm—but as Kate had said, he seemed like an ordinary person. Justin figured he might be new in town, because he couldn’t remember seeing him around before.
“This is Sugar, Little Billy’s mama,” Chip was telling Mr. Grimsted as Justin walked toward them.
“My grandpa’s goat is Little Billy’s daddy,” Luther chimed in.
“That the big white billy I saw in town?” Mr. Grimsted asked.
“Yes,” Luther said, “but my grandpa would never sell him, not in a million years.”
“My boy, anybody will sell anything if you offer them enough money,” Mr. Grimsted said, as if that was the one thing in life he was absolutely sure of.
“Not anything,” Chip retorted, wrapping his arms around Go-Girl.
“Little Billy’s real smart. See?” Luther held a carrot just out of Little Billy’s reach. The little goat reared on his hind legs and walked a few steps, until Luther let him have the carrot.
“Cute little devil. Exactly what I’m looking for.”
Mr. Grimsted saw Justin then, and grinned. “If that little chocolate drop was for sale, I’d take him, too. He’d make a great addition to my show.”
At first Justin didn’t believe he’d heard Mr. Grimsted correctly. When he realized he had, his jaw dropped open. Hadn’t anybody ever told the man that it isn’t polite to make jokes about a person’s race? But before Justin could think of anything to say, Luther leapt up on the fence and said, right in Mr. Grimsted’s face, “You got a nasty mouth, mister!”
“Hey, I was just kidding!” Mr. Grimsted backed away from the fence and turned to Justin. In a low voice, he said, “Some of ‘em are so touchy they can’t even take a joke.”
“I don’t think—” Justin was going to say that making remarks about a person’s color wasn’t all that funny, but Mr. Grimsted interrupted.
“Never mind. I’ll take your goat.” He opened the back door of the station wagon and unlatched the door of the carrier. “Put the little feller right in here.”
Justin climbed into the pen, picked up Little Billy, and carried him out to the car. The kid kicked and squirmed, making it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be carried anywhere, especially if it meant leaving his mother and sisters. When the carrier door clicked shut, Little Billy began bleating as if he were being murdered. That upset all the other goats, who ran up and down the fence bleating back to him. Justin hated the desperate sound the goats were making. He wished the man would pay him and leave.
Ruby walked up as Mr. Grimsted was counting out the money. “Seventy-five, right?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Justin replied.
“You ought to be able to double your money on that deal,” Ruby said, in the none-too-friendly way she spoke to people she didn’t entirely approve of.
Mr. Grimsted looked hurt. “It was the boy that set the price, not me. If he’s not satisfied, well then …” He glanced over at Justin questioningly, as if to say he was ready to call the deal off if Justin had changed his mind.
“I’m satisfied,” Justin said quickly.
Mr. Grimsted smiled. “Smart boy.” He turned to Ruby. “Seeing as how you’re not in this business, ma’am, you probably don’t realize that right now this goat is nothing but raw material. Not worth half what I just paid. But once I’ve invested six months training him, he very well could fetch two or three hundred.” Grimsted climbed into his station wagon, slammed the door, then stuck his head out the window. “I expect I’ll keep him, though,” he added. “There’s good money in leasing out animals for advertising purposes.”
With that, Mr. Grimsted waved a cheery goodbye and drove off. They all watched the station wagon bounce across the yard, back down the driveway onto Lost Goat Lane, and swerve onto the highway, headed for town. The car was almost out of sight before Little Billy’s bleats faded away.
“Mama,” Luther asked Ruby in a low voice, “What are you supposed to do when somebody makes fun of your color?” Luther had obviously asked this question before, but he wanted to hear the answer again.
“What do you do when a mosquito buzzes around your ear?” Ruby asked, giving Luther an absentminded pat.
“Pay it no mind,” he answered automatically. “Or if it bites me, slap it.”
“Right. Anybody makes fun of a person’s color has no more brains than a mosquito. So you treat them the same way. Ignore them. Unless they sting, of course. If they sting, slap ‘em with a good putdown.” Ruby looked down at Luther. “Why? Somebody at school say something to you?”
“It was that man,” Justin said. “He called Luther a chocolate drop.”
“Why that—!” She cut herself short and asked Luther, “What did you do, son?”
“I told him he had a nasty mouth.”
“I was going to say something, too,” Justin added, “but Luther was quicker. He didn’t let him get away with it.”
“He said he was just joking,” Luther said.
“He was just being ignorant,” Ruby snapped, flinging her head so the beads in her long beautiful braids flashed. She bent down and gave Luther a hug. “I’m proud of you, baby. You did exactly the right thing.”
Then she looked at Justin. “Thanks,” she said, “for standing up for my boy.”
“Wasn’t anything,” Justin mumbled. Ruby probably thought he was being modest, but the truth was, Justin hadn’t done anything. He’d wanted to tell Mr. Grimsted off, but he just couldn’t think fast enough. It was pretty embarrassing that a seven-year-old was quicker than he was when it came to putting down a rude man like that.
Justin stuffed the money in his pocket and trudged back toward the house. He was going to have a bike now. Why didn’t he feel happier?
Grimsted and the goat were far away by now, but it seemed like Justin could still hear Little Billy crying for help.
The next day Justin bought Brad’s bike. At last, he had his own wheels! He would never have to ride the school bus again—unless it was raining really hard, of course. Pedaling home that afternoon, Justin practically forgot about Little Billy. So much other stuff, good stuff, was happening that he rode along with a satisfied grin on his face. He’d made the varsity baseball team, he had a flashy new bicycle, and his grades had actually improved a tiny bit. On top of that, his fifteenth birthday was coming up soon and he’d be getting his learner’s permit.
On February 19, Justin’s birthday, Mom got off work a little early, picked him up after ball practice, and took him to the DMV office to get his learner’s permit. He didn’t hesitate one second when she offered to let him drive the pickup home. It wasn’t the first time he had been behind the wheel. Almost a year ago Mom had started letting him practice shifting gears and backing up and going forward in their own driveway. Once he’d gotten good at that, she’d let him drive up and down Lost Goat Lane and on the other dirt roads that ran between the cornfields near their place. But now that he had that learner’s permit, he could drive on roads with traffic—as long as a grown-up was with him, of course.
Considering that Mom worked on weekends, Justin didn’t know how often she’d find time to go out in the truck with him. He probably wouldn’t get to drive much more often than before. It was just that getting a learner’s permit was what everyone he knew did on their fifteenth birthday. Justin couldn’t take the test for a real driver’s license for another year. In the meantime, though, he had a great bike and didn’t have to ride the school bus with a bunch of elementary and junior high kids.
Nobody had asked Mr. Grimsted where he was taking Little Billy, and his business card had no address, so Justin never expected to see the goat again. He certainly never expected to see him going down the street on the other side of the school field just when he was about to throw a ball to third base. He was so surprised to see Little Billy that he hesitated a split second, and in that split second the runner made it safe to the base.
Coach Donovan didn’t see the goat but he saw Justin’s hesitation. “Blast it all, Martin!” he yelled. “Are you out there to play ball or scratch your behind?”
Justin jerked his eyes away from Little Billy. He had already seen more than he wanted to see, and it just about made him sick.
Grimsted had Little Billy hitched to a cart that was much too large for such a small goat. Little Billy kept stopping, then jumping ahead and bleating as if he had been stung by a bee. It wasn’t a bee, though. Mr. Grimsted was poking him with an electric cattle prod exactly like the ones Justin had seen handlers at the auction using to drive livestock around the ring.
Even after Little Billy and Mr. Grimsted disappeared around the corner, Justin couldn’t stop thinking about the poor goat. When it was his turn up to bat, he struck out on the first three pitches, which caused Coach Donovan to make a loud disgusted noise. By the time practice was over, the coach was glaring at Justin like he was the biggest klutz ever to show up for varsity team practice.
Justin didn’t bike straight home. Instead, he rode up and down all the streets around the school. It was an ordinary neighborhood with well-kept yards. Most of the houses were modern, but there were a few old ones, the kinds with detached garages. This wasn’t the sort of neighborhood where people kept farm animals. In fact, it probably wasn’t even legal to keep a goat around here.
Still, Justin reasoned, Grimsted must be keeping him somewhere nearby, because Little Billy couldn’t have pulled that heavy cart very far. Justin rode around the area for half an hour, but saw no sign of Mr. Grimsted or Little Billy. It was as if they’d vanished into thin air.