It is quite possible that others shared with him that impatience, though we are going to adhere for a while to Bud's point of view and do no more than guess at the thoughts hidden behind the fair words of certain men in the Valley.
Pop's state of mind we are privileged to know, for Pop was seen making daily pilgrimage to the pasture where he could watch Smoky limping desultorily here and there with Stopper and Sunfish.

On Saturday afternoon Bud saw Pop trying to get his hands on Smoky, presumably to examine the lame ankle.

But three legs were all Smoky needed to keep him out of Pop's reach.

Pop forgot his rheumatism and ran pretty fast for a man his age, and when Bud arrived Pop's vocabulary had limbered up to a more surprising activity than his legs.
"Want to bet on yourself, Pop ?" Bud called out when Pop was running back and forth, hopefully trying to corner Smoky in a rocky draw.

"I'm willing to risk a dollar on you, anyway." Pop whirled upon him and hurled sentences not written in the book of Parlor Entertainment.