“Dat’s always my luck,” he mourned. “Ef it rains soup my plate is turned upside down, an’ ef gold dollars draps down from de sky, I’m shore to be locked up in jail.” He passed along the ever-lengthening stream of negroes going to the races. “Look at Shinny goin’ back to dig up some mo’ of his buried money,” was the common greeting of every group of friends he met. “Somebody is been talkin’ to Shin about some hoss, an’ tellin’ ain’t no fair!” Shin scanned every face as a panhandler watches the crowd on the street looking for some easy mark from whom he can extract a “temporary” loan, but there was no face which indicated that the owner was willing to part with even a little of his money in behalf of an impecunious friend. Each one would have promised him all he wanted--after the races. At last Shin met the Rev. Vinegar Atts. “Elder,” he began, “I think I done got a tail-holt on somepin’ mighty good an’ I been lookin’ fer you.” “Yes, suh, dat’s right, son,” Vinegar boomed. “Of co’se, I ain’t no gamblin’ man myse’f, an’ don’t b’lieve in it, but I likes to hear tips so I kin know whut hoss to watch.” “Is you got any change on you, elder?” Shin asked eagerly. “A few, a measly few!” Vinegar rumbled. “Whut hoss did you say?” “I ain’t say,” Shin replied. “Why don’t you bawl out?” Vinegar bellowed. “I cain’t stand here on my foots all day! Git yo’ mouf gwine!” “You an’ me oughter make a trade, elder,” Shin said. “I got de idear an’ you is got de chink. You gimme all de money you is got, an’ I’ll ’tend to dat part of it while you watches de hosses gallop.” “I’s skeart you’ll lose my dollars,” Vinegar said uneasily, fumbling the change in his voluminous pockets. “Mebbe you better tell me fust whut kind of tip you is got.” “Pap Curtain tole me to bet on Skipper in de fourth race,” Shin said earnestly. “Don’t you think dat is a good tip?” Vinegar turned and walked away a few steps, then turned and walked back. His hands were thrust deep into his trouser pockets and his chin was sunk down upon his breast. “Naw, dat ain’t no good tip a-tall!” he exploded. “Pap Curtain is a slick-head nigger, as full of tricks as a monkey wid a tin tail. I don’t hab no trust in him no-time, no-whar, no-how! You better gib dat Skipper de go-by.” “Pap ain’t tryin’ to fool me, Vinegar,” Shin Bone protested. “I’s gwine marry his sister’s onlies’ chile, an’ so me an’ him is in de same fambly. Excusin’ dat, dis Skipper hoss b’longs to my gal’s maw. Dat proves he ain’t tryin’ to rob me.” “You ain’t on to Pap Curtain’s curves yit, Shin,” Vinegar told him. “Pap would steal de gold outen his granmaw’s jaw toofs, ef de ole woman had any toofs in her gums. Excusin’ dat, Pap don’t expeck you to lose no money. He knows you ain’t got none.” “Dat’s a fack,” Shin admitted.