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"'Boss, says Duckfoot, 'some folks 'low dis hoss am Frien'less, but hit ain'. Ef hits Frien'less, an' yo' puts yo' han' hyar on his belly dey is a rough-feelin' scab. Dis hoss am puffeckly smo-o then he stops 'n' begins to get ashy 'round the mouth. "'Well? says the colonel. 'What's the matter? "'Lawd Gawd, boss!
De hanimals I tame dey run away; de birds I mak' play wit' dey fly south when de winter come. I say, 'Doret, dis gal she's poor, she's frien'less, she's alone. She's very seeck, but you goin' mak' her well. She ain't goin' run away. She ain't goin' fly off lak dem birds. No. She's goin' love you lak a broder, an' mebbe she's goin' let you stay close by. Dieu! Dat's fine dream, eh?
Dis am Frien'less . . . Hyar's de scah! says Duckfoot, his eyes a-rollin'. Then he goes 'round 'n' looks at the hoss in front. 'Whar his white foot at? he asks the colonel. "'That's what we are about to ascertain, says the colonel. 'Boy, he says to a ginny, 'run out to the drug store with this dollar and bring me back a pint of benzine and a tooth-brush. "The ginny beats it.
'Frien'less has a white foot on de off front laig and besides dat he has a rough-feeling scab on de belly whar he done rip hisself somehow befo' I gits him. Dis dawg am smooth as a possum. "That settles all arguments. You can't fool a swipe 'bout a hoss he's taken care of. He knows every hair on him. "One day I'm clockin' this Alcyfras while a exercise-boy sends him seven-eights.
"When Duckfoot comes he busts through the crowd like he's the paddock judge. "'Lemme look at dis hoss, he says. "Everybody draws back 'n' Duckfoot looks the hoss over 'n' then runs his hand under his barrel close to the front legs. "'No, sah, dis ain' Frien'less, he says.
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