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Updated: May 19, 2025
He might still be called "horsey" and would consider the term a compliment. But Eddie Kaboff's fame and fortune had both dwindled since the good old betting days when little swindling games larded the solid profits of crooked races. One by one his thoroughbreds had given up their stalls to truck horses, just as Eddie's diamond studs had given place to plain buttons.
A beautiful bay saddle horse occupied the box. Kaboff entered and called the animal, which answered by flying into a seeming fury, plunging about the box, kicking, rearing and snapping. "Same old devil," muttered Hicks. "He'll do." The sight of an apple in Kaboff's hand calmed the animal. It came to him and ate docilely while he slipped a bridle over its head.
"This much to try it," said Owen, "and as much again if you make good." Kaboff's glance wavered a moment between the penetrating eyes of Owen and the money in his hand. "Take it; it's yours." The flabby hand closed almost caressingly around the roll. "We'll go in and have a look at the brute," he said. They followed him through a line of stalls to a large padded box at the far end of the barn.
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