"'You will, perhaps, be interested to learn,' he says, 'that Ah have pu'chased the hawss Trampfast with a po'tion of the money. Hyah is a lettah foh you from Mr. Sigsbee relative to the mattah.' He hands me a letter, but I can't hardly read it--his buyin' this hop-head gets my goat. "'What you goin' to do with him?' I says. 'Race him?' "'That is ma intention, suh,' he says. 'Ah expect to keep him in yoh hands. But, of co'se, suh, the hawss will race on his merits and without any sawt of stimulant.' "I ain't stuck on the proposition. The Trampfast hoss can't beat a cook stove without the hop. I hate to see the ole man burn up his dough on a dead one. "'Now, Mr. Sanford,' I says, 'times has changed since you raced. If you'll let me handle this hoss to suit myself I think I can make a piece of money fur you. The game ain't like it was once, 'n' if you try to pull the stuff that got by thirty years ago, they'll trim you right down to the suspenders. They ain't nothin' crooked about slippin' the hop into a hoss that needs it.' "'As neahly as I can follow yoh fohm of speech,' says ole man Sanford, 'you intend to convey the impression that the practise of stimulating a hawss has become entirely propah. Am I correct, suh?' "'That's it,' I says. ''N' you can gamble I'm right.' "'Is the practise allowed under present day racing rules?' says ole man Sanford, 'n' I think I've got him goin'. "'Why, sure not,' I says. 'But how long would a guy last if he never broke a racin' rule?' "'Out of yoh own mouth is yoh augument condemned, suh,' says ole man Sanford. 'Even in this day and generation the rules fohbid it--and let me say, suh, that should a trainah, a jockey, or any one connected with a stable of mine, be guilty of wilfully violating a racing rule, Ah would discharge him at once, suh!' "'_You goin' to race on the level all the time_?' I says. "'If by that expression you mean hono'ably and as a gentleman--yes, suh!' "'_Good night, nurse_!' I says. 'You'll go broke quick at that game!' "'Allow me to remind you that that is ma own affaih, suh,' says ole man Sanford, 'n' the argument's over. His ideas date back so far they're mildewed, but I see I can't change 'em. He don't belong around a race track no more'n your grandmother! "'All right, Mr. Sanford!' I says. 'You're the doctor! We'll handle him just like you say.' "Peewee Simpson has come over to chew the rag with me, 'n' he hears most of this talk. "'Wait till I call the boys,' he says, when ole man Sanford goes in to look at the hoss. "'What fur?' I says. "'Family prayers,' says Peewee. "I throws a scraper at him, 'n' he goes on down the line singin', _Onward, Christian Soldiers_. "Ole man Sanford orders a set of silks. He's got to send away fur the kind he wants 'n' he won't let me start his hoss till they come. Nobody but big stables pays attention to colors, so I tries to talk him out of the notion,--nothin' doin'!