"That was on a Saturday. On Monday I enters the bird among a bunch of dogs to start in a five furlong sprint Thursday. I'm savin' every soomarkee I gets my hands on 'n' I pays the entrance to the secretary like it's a mere bag of shells. Joe Nickel can't ride fur me--he's under contract. I meets him the day before my race. "'You're levelin' with your hoss, ain't you?' he says. 'I'll send my valet in with you, 'n' after you get yours on, he'll bet two hundred fur me.' "'Nothin' doin', Joe!' I says. 'Stay away from it. I'll tell you when I gets ready to level. You can't bet them bookies nothin'--they're wise to him.' "'Look-a-here, Bud!' says Joe. 'That bird'll cake-walk among them crabs. No jock can make him lose, 'n' not get ruled off.' "'Leave that to me,' I says. "Just as I figgers--my hoss opens up eight-to-five in the books. "I gives him all the water he'll drink afore he goes to the post, 'n' I has bandages on every leg. The paddock judge looks at them bandages, but he knows the bird's a cripple, 'n' he don't feel 'em. "'Them's to hold his legs on, ain't they?' he says, 'n' grins. "'Surest thing you know,' I says. But I feels some easier when he's on his way--_there's seven pounds of lead in each of them bandages_. "I don't want the bird whipped when he ain't got a chance. "'This hoss backs up if you use the bat on him,' I says to the jock, as he's tyin' his reins. "'He backs up anyway, I guess,' he says, as the parade starts. "The bird gets away good, but I'd overdone the lead in his socks. He finished a nasty last--thirty len'ths back. "'Roll over, kid!' says the jock, when I go up to slip him his fee. 'Not fur ridin' that hippo. It 'ud be buglary--he couldn't beat a piano!' "I meets Colonel King comin' out of the judge's stand that evenin'. "'An owner's life has its trials and tribulations--eh, my boy?' he says. "'Yes, sir!' I says. That's the first time Colonel King ever speaks to me, 'n' I swells up like a toad. 'I'm gettin' to be all the gravy 'round here,' I says to myself. "Two days after this they puts an overnight mile run fur maidens on the card, 'n' I slips the bird into it. I knowed it was takin' a chance so soon after his bad race, but it looks so soft I can't stay 'way from it. I goes to Cal Davis, 'n' tells him to put a bet down. "'Oh, ho!' he says. 'Lendin' me a helpin' hand, are you?' Then I tells him about Nickel. "'Did Joe Nickel work him out for you?' he says. 'The best is good enough fur you, ain't it? I'll see Joe, 'n' if it looks good to him I'll take a shot at it. Much obliged to you.' "'Don't never mention it,' I says. "'How do you mean that?' he says, grinnin'. "'Both ways,' says I. "The mawnin' of the race, I'm givin' the bird's bad leg a steamin', when a black swipe named Duckfoot Johnson tells me I'm wanted on the phone over to the secretary's office, 'n' I gets Duckfoot to go on steamin' the leg while I'm gone.