United States or Bahamas ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Come and see for yourself," said Old Man Curry, taking his lantern from the peg. After an interval they returned to the tack-room, the Bald-faced Kid shaking his head commiseratingly. "That would have been rotten luck if it had happened to a dog!" said he. "And the Handicap coming on and all." "There'll be a better opening price than 3 to 1 now, I reckon," said Old Man Curry grimly.
"Tell it to me, old-timer," said he humbly. "I'm such a wise guy that it hurts me; but something has come off here that's a mile over my head. Tell me; I'm no mind reader." Old Man Curry combed his beard reflectively and gazed through the tack-room door into the dusk of the summer evening. "Son," said he at length, "you never swapped hosses much, did you?"
An inquisitive soul is an itching thing and the gathering of information was the Bald-faced Kid's ruling passion. He called at Old Man Curry's stable that evening with a bit of news which he hoped to use as the key to a secret. "Greetings!" said he at the tack-room door. "Thought you'd like to know that Engle has sold Elisha. Pete Lawrence bought him for three hundred dollars.
The Bald-faced Kid, who lived by doing the best he could and preferred to be called a hustler rather than a tout, spoke from the tack-room interior. He was a privileged character at the Curry barn. "How does she look, old-timer? Going to clear up by noon?" Old Man Curry shook his head. "Well, no," said he. "I reckon not. Looks to me like reg'lar Noah weather, Frank.
And where's that nigger? I want him too. Murphy, I'll see you later.... Don't go away, Mr. Curry. I need you." "That's what I call getting hunk with a vengeance, old-timer." Thus the Bald-faced Kid, at the door of Old Man Curry's tack-room. "You cleaned up right, didn't you? Weaver's ruled off for life, and his horses with him he can't even sell 'em to another stable. Murphy's lost his license.
Little Mose followed him down the track toward the paddock; he had to trot to keep up with the old man's stride. "Might have knowed they'd team up agin us," said the negro. "Them Irish jockeys had a story all cooked to tell." Old Man Curry did not open his mouth until he reached his tack-room, and then it was only to stuff one cheek with fine-cut tobacco his solace in times of stress.
You can get me at the hotel every night after dinner. Better use the telephone. In case you slip up or miss me, send word by Al Engle." "All right," said Henry. "And say," Goldmark actually grinned, "I hear this Curry is a soft-hearted old fellow. Why couldn't you tell him a hard-luck story and get to sleep in his tack-room nights? Then you'd be right on the ground. Try a hard-luck story on him.
"Well," said Old Man Curry, "that's the secret of it, my son, and it's this way 'bout a secret: you can't let too many folks in on it. I reckon it was a word spoken in due season, as Solomon says. Elisha, he won't hear it again unless he changes owners." Old Man Curry, owner of race horses, looked out of his tack-room door at a streaming sky and gave thanks for the rain.
Engle says that's two-ninety-five more than he'd bring at a soap works." Old Man Curry had been reading by the light of the tack-room lantern; he pushed his glasses back on his forehead and smiled at his informant. "Oh, Elisha!" said he. "Yes, if you look in the second stall to the right, you'll find him. He's been straying among the publicans and sinners, but he's home again now where he belongs.
You use an English saddle, I dare say, and ride with a short stirrup?" Panchito dutifully followed like a dog at heel to the tack-room, where Farrel saddled him and carefully fitted the bridle with the snaffle-bit. Following a commanding slap on the fore leg, the intelligent animal knelt for Kay to mount him, after which, Farrel adjusted the stirrup leathers for her.
Word Of The Day