"It's a feed man on the phone, wantin' to know when he gets sixteen bucks I owe him. "'The bird'll bring home your coin at four o'clock this afternoon,' I tells him. "'Well, that's lucky,' he says. 'I thought it was throwed to the birds, 'n' I didn't figure they'd bring it home again.' "When I gets back there's a crap game goin' on in front of the stall, 'n' Duckfoot's shootin'. There's a hot towel on the bird's leg, 'n' it's been there too long. I takes it off 'n' feel where small blisters has begun to raise under the hair--a little more 'n' it 'ud been clear to the bone. I cusses Duckfoot good, 'n' rubs vaseline into the leg." I interrupted Blister long enough to inquire: "Don't they blister horses sometimes to cure them of lameness?" "Sure," he replied. "But a hoss don't work none fur quite a spell afterwards. A blister, to do any good, fixes him so he can't hardly raise his leg fur two weeks. "Well," he went on, "the race fur maidens was the last thing on the card. I'm in the betting-ring when they chalks up the first odds, 'n' my hoss opens at twenty-five-to-one. The two entrance moneys have about cleaned me. I'm only twenty green men strong. I peels off ten of 'em 'n' shoved up to a booky. "'On the nose fur that one,' I says, pointin' to the bird's name. "'Quit your kiddin',' he says. 'What 'ud you do with all that money? This fur yours.' 'N' he rubs to twelve-to-one. "'Ain't you the liberal gink?' I says, as he hands me the ticket. "'I starts fur the next book, but say!--the odds is just meltin' away. Joe's 'n' Cal's dough is comin' down the line, 'n' the gazabos, thinkin' it's wise money, trails. By post-time the bird's a one-to-three shot. "I've give the mount to Sweeney, 'n' like a nut I puts him hep to the bird, 'n' he tells his valet to bet a hundred fur him. The bird has on socks again, but this time they're empty, 'n' the race was a joke. He breaks fifth at the get-away, but he just mows them dogs down. Sweeney keeps thinkin' about that hundred, I guess, 'cause he rode the bird all the way, 'n' finished a million len'ths in front. "I cashes my ticket, 'n' starts fur the barn to sleep with that bird, when here comes Joe Nickel. "'He run a nice race,' he says, grinnin', 'n' hands me six hundred bucks. "What's this fur?' I says. 'You better be careful . . . I got a weak heart.' "'I win twelve hundred to the race,' he says. ''N' we splits it two ways.' "'Nothin' doin',' I says, 'n' tries to hand him back the wad. "'Go awn!' he says, 'I'll give you a soak in the ear. I bet that money fur you, kiddo.' "I looks at the roll 'n' gets wobbly in the knees. I never see so much kale before--not at one time. Just then we hears the announcer sing out through a megaphone: "'The o-o-owner of Count Nobul-l-l-l is wanted in the judge's stand!' "'Oy, oy!' says Joe. 'You'll need that kale--you're goin' to lose your happy home. It's Katy bar the door fur yours, Bud!'