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"What the divil is it, onyway?" he muttered, kneeling and lighting a match, which he held close to the spot. "Bot' t'umbs!" he exclaimed, "it's candle grease. Have aither of ye b'ys been in here wit' a candle? It's agin the rules." "There isn't a candle about the barn, an' you know it, Mike," cried Carter, indignantly. Mike was prospecting the floor with another light.

He has heavy concussion. Cynthia has full directions what to do." After Dr. Rathbone had left Mike and Carter went down to the stables. "I'll jest have a look at that broke rein," said Gaynor; "that sthrap was strong enough to hang Diablo. If there's not some dirty business in this, I'll eat me hat. T'umbs up! but it was a gallop, though. The Black kin move whin he wants to."

"I was too busy takin' a wrap on Lucretia; she was gettin' a bit out of hand." When they came to the gate which gave entrance to Ringwood house Mike said to Carter, with rough sympathy in his voice: "Slip in ahead, Ned, and tell the Misses that the boss has had a bit av a spill. Say he's just stunned; no bones broke. Bot' t'umbs! though, I fear he's mashed to a jelly.

But for the restraining rein, tightened quickly by the boy who held him, Lauzanne would have snuggled his head against his little mistress. "They understand each other," said Dixon to Mike, in an undertone; "we'll get all that's in him this trip." "Bot' t'umbs up! if he doesn't come home alone I'll eat me hat. The sharks'll get a knock this journey, that'll make 'em take a tumble to themselves."

Carson ceased to smile; the smile had passed to other faces, the owners of which were listening with fiendish delight to the castigation. Some one touched Mike on the arm, saying, "Come over into the paddock, Gaynor; you're barkin' up the wrong tree." It was Dixon. "Bot' t'umbs up! This game's too tough fer me I'll ship me plugs to Gravesend.

He doesn't want much medicine; that we keep for our enemies, ha! ha!" and he laughed cheerily, as if it were all a joke on the battered man. "Thim docthers is cold-blooded divils," was Mike's comment. "Ye'd a thought they'd been throwin' dice, an' it was a horse on the other gintleman. Bot' t'umbs! it was, too.

And still his rider was lying low on the withers, just a blue blur on the dark gold of the Chestnut. "Bot' t'umbs! but they're a pair," muttered the Irishman; "be me soul, I t'ink they'll win." At the bottom turn into the stretch Mike could see that White Moth and The Dutchman had closed up on the Indian, so that they swung around the corner as one horse. "Gad, she's shut off!" he muttered.

If Allis hadn't laughed in his face, being full of the happiness of hope, Mike would not have recognized her even then he didn't hit it off quite right. "Alan Porter!" he gasped. "Bot' t'umbs up! Is it ye, b'y?" "Hush!" and a small warning finger was held up. "Don't fear, b'y, that I'll give it away. Mum's the word wit' me. But I'm dahmned if I t'ought ye could roide like that.

Then he leaned over and whispered in an aside to the visitors "Bot' t'umbs up!" "Diablo hates that b'y an' some day he'll do him up, mark my words." "Here, Shandy," he cried, turning to the rubber, "loose the Black's head an' turn him 'round."

Porter's troubled face. "Ye can't, sor, an' yer next the trut' there. I've seen a herrin'-gutted weed av a two-year-old I remember wan now; he was a Lexington. It was at Saratoga; an' bot' t'umbs! he just made hacks av iverythin' in soight spread-eagled his field. Ye wouldn't a-give two dollars fer him, an' he come out an' cleaned up the Troy Stake, like the great horse he was."