"I don't know why I ever does it, but it comes to me how Duckfoot leaves the towel on the bird's leg, 'n' I don't stop to think. "'I blistered him,' I says. "'You--_what_?' says the colonel. I'd have give up the roll quick, sooner'n spit it out again, but I'm up against it. "'I blisters him', I says. "The colonel's face gets red. His eyes bung out 'n' he turns 'round 'n' starts to cough 'n' make noises. The rest of them judges does the same. They holds on to each other 'n' does it. I know they're givin' me the laugh fur that fierce break I makes. "'You're outclassed, kid!' I says to myself. 'They'll tie a can to you, sure. The gate fur yours!' "Just then Colonel King turns round, 'n' I see I can't look at him no more. I looks at my hat, waitin' fur him to say I'm ruled off. I've got a lump in my throat, 'n' I think it's a bunch of bright conversation stuck there. But just then a chunk of water rolls out of my eye, 'n' hits my hat--pow! It looks bigger'n Lake Erie, 'n' 'fore I kin jerk the hat away--pow!--comes another one. I knows the colonel sees 'em, 'n' I hopes I croak. "'Ahem--', he says. "'Now I get mine!' I says to myself. "'Mr. Jones,' says the colonel, 'n' his voice is kind-a cheerful. 'The judges will accept your explanation. You may go if you wish.'" Just as I'm goin' down the steps the colonel stops me. "'I have a piece of advice for you, Mr. Jones,' he says. His voice ain't cheerful neither. It goes right into my gizzard. I turns and looks at him. '_Keep that horse blistered from now on_!' says the colonel. "Some ginnies is in the weighin'-room under the stand, 'n' hears it all. That's how I gets my name." TWO RINGERS "Hello, ole Four Eyes!" was the semi-affectionate greeting of Blister Jones. "I ain't seed you lately." I had found him in the blacksmith shop at Latonia, lazily observing the smith's efforts to unite Fan Tan and a set of new-made, blue-black racing-plates. I explained how a city editor had bowed my shoulders with the labors of Hercules during the last week, and began to acquire knowledge of the uncertainties connected with shoeing a young thoroughbred. A colored stable-boy stood at Fan Tan's wicked-looking head and addressed in varied tone and temper a pair of flattened ears. "Whoa! Baby-doll! Dat's ma honey--dat's ma petty chile-- . . . Whoa! Yuh no-'coun' houn', yuh!" The first of the speech had been delivered soothingly, as the smith succeeded in getting a reluctant hind leg into his lap; the last was snorted out as the leg straightened suddenly and catapulted him into a corner of the shop, where he sat down heavily among some discarded horseshoes. The smith arose, sweat and curses dripping from him. "Chris!" said Blister, "it's a shame the way you treat that pore filly. She comes into yer dirty joint like a little lady, fur to get a new pair of shoes, 'n' you grabs her by the leg 'n' then cusses her when she won't stand fur it."