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Updated: May 26, 2025
No telegraphing for Mr. Usher, except in case of death, actual or imminent. Ransome supposed that he would have to see him and get it over. Soon after seven on Wednesday, then, Mr. Usher having ridden over on his mare Polly and Ransome on his bicycle, they met in the parlor of the "Bald-Faced Stag," Edgware. Mr. Usher's friend the landlord had undertaken that they should not be disturbed.
I ain't going to bet anything. Sometimes it comes handy to know these things." "You spoke an armful then!" said the Kid. "Well, I've got to be going. I'll keep this under my hat." "So do, son," said Old Man Curry. "So do. Good night." The Bald-faced Kid reflected aloud as he departed. "And some people think that old fellow don't know the right way of the track!" he murmured. "Gee!
You know what it says in Ecclesiastes: 'In the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider. I been considering." "Uh, huh," said the Bald-faced Kid, falling into step, "and you sure reached out and grabbed some adversity in that third race to-day, what? I had a finnif bet on friend Isaiah my own money, too; that's how good I thought he was.
Pull in as close to Elisha as you can, but not so close that Merritt can claim a foul, and you know the rest." Mose nodded soberly. "Sutny do, boss. But I neveh knowed 'at ol' 'Lisha " "That'll do," said Old Man Curry sternly. "There's lots of things you don't know, Mose." "Yes, suh," said the little negro, subsiding. "Quite a many." Later the Bald-faced Kid came to Old Man Curry in the paddock.
Whoever it was that was ringing the bell and I could give a pretty good guess who it was didn't seem to hear us coming, and they went up the aisle and pulled back the red baize curtain that hides the bottom of the tower where the ringers stand on Sundays, and there was Mattie with her old green gown on, and her hair all loose and down her back with the hard work of bellringing, I suppose, and her face as white as the bald-faced stag as is painted on the sign down at the inn in the village.
"He ain't got no license to be odds on." "See you later!" said the Bald-faced Kid, and went away with a pitying grin upon his face. The pity was evenly divided between Elisha and his owner. Old Man Curry heaved little Mose into the saddle. "Mind now, son. Ride just like I told you. Stay with that black hoss. He'll lay out of it the first mile. When he moves up, you move up too.
Somehow, I'd hate to see the old bird get into trouble.... Say, by the way, how much did he bet?" The Bald-faced Kid began to laugh. He laughed until he had to lean on the rail for support. "Don't worry," said he, at last. "The judges won't be too hard on him. He hunted all over the ring until he found some 75 to 1 and then he bet the wad two great big iron dobey dollars all at once, mind you!"
I thought he'd walk in. Then all at once he quit running. He wasn't pulled, but something stopped him and stopped him quick. What was it?" Old Man Curry stroked his beard and regarded the Bald-faced Kid with a tolerant expression. "Well, now," said he at length, "seeing as how you know so much, I'm going to tell you something more 'bout that 'Lisha hoss. He used to have another name once."
Old Man Curry placed his hand on the Kid's shoulder. "My boy," said he, kindly, "you make a living by by sort of advising folks what to bet on, don't you? The Bald-faced Kid grinned broadly. "I guess that's about the size of it," said he. "Well, if you've got any reg'lar customers, don't invite 'em to have a slice of Engle's melon next Tuesday. It might disagree with 'em."
His old feet won't get so hot." Curry peered over the Kid's shoulder at the crowded columns of figures and footnotes, unintelligible to any but the initiated, and supposedly a complete record of the racing activities of every horse in training. "Hm-m-m. Some folks say Solomon didn't write Ecclesiastes. Some say he did after he got rid of his wives." The Bald-faced Kid laughed.
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