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"Everybody's het up over it so's nobody'll talk politics. How's a feller goin' to win votes if he can't git nobody to talk to him, that's what I want to know? Seems like there hain't nothin' in the world but Wade Lumley's geldin' and that hoss of Green's." "Um!... Sort of distressing hain't it? Know Kent Pilkinton perty well, Marvin?" "Brother-in-law." "Holds public office, don't he?"

"Jest half a mile from Pettybone's house to the dam," he continued, with apparent irrelevance. "Level road." "And my geldin' kin travel that same road spryer 'n Green's hoss for a hunderd dollars," said Wade, eagerly. "Dunno," said Scattergood. "Hoss races is uncertain. G'-by, Wade. See you later."

"'What fur? I says. "'Wait till we git there 'n' I'll tell you, he says. "We rides fur about a hour 'n' pulls up at a barn out in the edge of town. We goes inside 'n' there's a big sorrel geldin', with a blaize face, in a box-stall. "'Look him over, says Harms. I gets one pike at the hoss "'Why! it's ole Friendless! I says. "'Look close, he says. 'Wait till I get him outside.

"Hadn't we better try to get down there, and help those men out?" suggested Harry. "Perhaps they are not dead yet." "Aunt Debby, thet thar hoss thet's rain' his head an' whinnyin'," said Fortner, with sudden interest, "is Joel Sprigg's roan geldin', sho's yore bo'n, honey." He pointed to where a shapely head was raised, and almost human agony looked out of great liquid eyes.

Scattergood sat on his piazza as usual, the morning after the portentous visit, and called a greeting to Wade Lumley, dry-goods merchant, as that prominent citizen passed to his place of business. "How's the geldin' this mornin', Wade?" he asked. "Feelin' his oats. Got to take him out on the road this evenin'. Time to begin shapin' him up for the county fair." "Three-year-old, hain't he?"

I nevah furgit de day dat my ol' Mas' Jack put me on 'June Boy, his black geldin', an' say to me, 'Si, says he, 'if you don' ride de tail offen Cunnel Scott's mare, "No Quit," I's gwine to larrup you twell you cain't set in de saddle no mo'. Hyah, hyah. My ol' Mas' was a mighty han' fu' a joke. I knowed he wan't gwine to do nuffin' to me. "Did I win?

"These punkin races is all half-mile dashes, best two out of three. Peewee's geldin' is a distance hoss he don't get goin' good under a mile. In a bull-ring sprint he ain't got a chance with this black stud of Butsy's. "Our game is to have Butsy turn his dash-hound loose the first heat.

Exactly as in the Yeni Khan in Tarsus when we first met him there was a moment now of intense repulsion, entirely unaccountable, succeeded instantly by a wave of sympathy. I laughed aloud, remembering how strange dogs meeting in the street to smell each other are swept by unexplainable antipathies and equally swift comradeship. He thought I laughed at him. "Neye geldin?" he growled in Turkish.

Then I ambulates out among the rubes 'n' acts like I'm willing to bet on the bay geldin'. If I finds a live one, Butsy takes his hoss up in his lap the last two trips 'n' Peewee comes on 'n' grabs the gravy. "We figger the rubes'll eat it up after seein' that nice-lookin' black stud romp away with the first heat. But right there the dope falls down the rubes ain't as dead as they look.

"'Now, says Butsy, 'I'm born 'n' raised in Mount Clinton, Ohio. I sees the race meet there frequent 'n' she's a peach. You can have a hoss lay down 'n' go to sleep on the track if you don't want him to win 'n' then tell the judges he's got spring fever. Everything goes except murder. We'll take that black stud of mine 'n' Peewee's bay geldin' 'n' hit this punkin circuit.