"It's begun to get under my skin right. I'm feelin' queer, 'n' I gets to thinkin' I'd better beat it. 'Don't be a damn fool!' I says to myself. 'You ain't had nothin' to do with the cussed business 'n' you can't help it none. If you don't buy this colt somebody else will.' So I sets on the edge of the porch 'n' waits. It ain't so long till Miss Goodloe comes out again. I gets up 'n' takes off my hat. "'What horse do you wish to buy?' she says. "'A big chestnut colt by Calabash, dam Mary Goodloe,' I says. 'They tell me you own him.' "'Oh, I _can't_ sell _him_!' she says, backin' towards the door. 'No one has ever ridden him but me.' "'Is he fast?' I asks her. "'Of course,' she says. "'Is he mannered?' I asks. "'Perfectly,' she says. "'He ain't never seen a barrier, I suppose?' I says. "'He's broken to the barrier,' she says then. "'Who schools him?' I says. 'You tells me nobody's been on him but you--' "'I schooled him at the barrier with the other two-year-olds,' she says. "'Whee!' I says. 'You must be able to ride some.' "'I'd be ashamed of myself if I couldn't,' she says. "'Are you sure you won't sell him?' I asks her. "'Positive,' she says, 'n' I see she means it. "'What you goin' to do with him?' I says. 'Don't you know it's wicked not to give that colt a chance to show what he can do?' "'I know it is,' she says. 'But I have no money for training expenses.' "I studies a minute, 'n' all of a sudden it comes to me. 'You were just achin' to help this little dame a while ago,' I says to myself. 'Here's a chance . . . be a sport!' The colt _might_ make good, 'n' she could use a thousand or so awful easy. "'Miss Goodloe,' I says out loud, 'I might as well tell you I'm in love with that colt.' She gives me a real sweet smile. "'Isn't he a darling?' she says, her face lightin' up. "'That isn't the way I'd put it,' I says, 'but I guess we mean the same. Now, I'm a race-hoss trainer. You read these letters from people I'm workin' fur, 'n' then I'll tell you what I want to do.' I fishes out a bunch of letters from my pocket 'n' she sets down on the steps 'n' begins to read 'em solemn as owls. "'Why do they call you Blister?' she asks, lookin' up from a letter. "'That's a nickname,' I says. "'Oh,' she says, 'n' goes on readin'. When she gets through she hands the letters to me. 'They seem to have a lot of confidence in you, Blis--Mr. Jones,' she says. "'Stick to Blister,' I says, ''n' I'll always come when I'm called.' "'Very well, Blister,' she says. 'Now, why did you wish me to read those letters?'