Billy and Old Smoko Read Online Free

he put a drop of kerosene on his hanky, leaned a ladder against Old Smoko, and polished him all over till he shone like a bronze statue. His coat that had once looked grey was now reddish-brown, what you call bay. Feathery white hairs grew down the back of his legs and half-covered his feet. His new shoes glittered silver, and helooked like the heavy draught horse he was supposed to be – a Clydesdale.
    “There! How does that feel?”
    “Ineffably better!” said Old Smoko in a rather grand voice. “Words are insufficient to express my thanks.”

Chapter Seven
Why Billy Rubbed His Nose With His Foot, Why Old Smoko Wrung the Eel’s Neck, and How Dad Knew the Cows Were Milking Real Well.
    â€œW ho said that?” Billy exclaimed.
    â€œIt was I,” Old Smoko said rather pedantically. “My especial thanks, nay, my undying gratititude for pulling out the thorn from my leg and digging the stone out of the frog of my hoof. They were rendering me not only halt but lame.”
    â€œNobody said you could talk!”
    â€œNobody asked me. And I think it would be to our mutual advantage were you to keep it a secret from the grownups.” Old Smoko lifted one foot, rubbed the side of his nose, and nodded.
    â€œMy real mum said I must always tell the truth, but Idon’t think she’d mind me keeping a secret so long as it’s for a good purpose.” Billy lifted one of his feet and rubbed the side of his own nose back to Old Smoko.
    â€œHere we are!” Billy’s father came out of the cowshed swinging something in his hand. “Make yourself a hackamore with this here old leg-rope; it’ll save us buying a bridle.
    â€œMy word, you done a good job, Billy. Old Smoko’s come up a treat! It might be an idea if you was to rub a drop of this here liniment into his off shoulder. I bought a bottle off the Rawleighs Man as he cut along past our front paddock this morning. Old Smoko’s had a bit of a limp for some time.”
    Billy took the bottle, noticing his father held it between two fingers so he didn’t get the smell of liniment on himself. The leg-rope was ploughline, stiffened with years of cow pee and poop till it was hard as old wood. As his father walked across the paddock and leaned against the hedge, Billy made a hackamore and put it on Old Smoko who whispered, “Truth to tell, I prefer a hackamore to a bridle, because it means I do not have to bear the irritation of an iron bit in my mouth.”
    â€œI don’t think I’d like having an iron bit in my mouth either,” Billy whispered back, as he rubbed a drop of liniment into his off shoulder.
    Old Smoko smiled. “I adore the smell of oil of wintergreen! I have decided, Billy,” he said, “that you and I are going to be more than mere acquaintances. We shall be comrades – in prosperity and in misfortune!”
    â€œMates!” Billy said. “In good times and in bad!” They shook hands on it.
    â€œI must say you look a different person,” said Billy.
    â€œIt is all your doing,” said Old Smoko. He knelt and with his nose nudged Billy up on his back, the way an elephant uses his trunk.
    â€œIt looks a long way down from up here,” said Billy.
    â€œNever fear! I shall always be here to catch you.”
    Billy nodded. He was getting used to the old-fashioned way Old Smoko spoke. Besides, he’d had nobody much to talk to since his real mother disappeared and his father went even more lackadaisical. It felt good having a mate, and he could always pull Old Smoko’s leg if he got too pompous.
    â€œMy real mum disappeared,” he found himself saying. “I don’t know where she is.”
    â€œIt will gratify me to assist you in your search,” said Old Smoko. “That is the very sort of thing that comrades are for.”
    â€œI would be eternally grateful if you were to do so,” said Billy and thought he must be careful not to sound