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The old negro's ears drank all this in. It was as wine to his spirit. He hummed a soft minor accompaniment to the purring motor, and leaning forward I caught these words: "Curry a mule an' curry a hoss, Keep down trubbul wid de stable boss!" "Luck to her, Judge!" called the man at the gates, as he waved us through. "Ah've bet my clothes on her!"
He was singing, softly singing. And leaning forward I listened. "Curry a mule an' curry a hoss, Keep down trubbul wid de stable boss!" sang Uncle Jake. "Do you happen to notice a old duck that comes to the stalls at Loueyville just after the derby?" asked Blister. "Was his name Sanford, and did he wish to pat the mare?" I asked in turn. "That's him," said Blister. "Ole man Sanford.
But he stood staunchly in his place and told me the story of the Little Half Chick with an abandon and bodily emphasis which left no doubt of his sympathetic understanding of every word. The depth of moral reproach in his tone was quite beyond description when he said, "Little Half Chick, little Half Chick, when I was in trubbul you wouldn't help me!"
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