“Skeeter,” he exulted, “dat little wad of money shows dat you an’ me is gwine to git rich.” “How come?” Skeeter asked. “You ain’t got no claimance on dis wad.” “I’se got one real good tip.” “Explode it in my y-ear,” Skeeter exclaimed eagerly. “Pap Curtain say bet on Skipper.” Skeeter grinned, snickered, chuckled, laughed. He stood up, turned around, sat down again, and laughed louder. “Ain’t dat no good tip?” Shin asked. “Yes, suh, dat’s a dandy,” Skeeter proclaimed. “All dat tip signifies to me is, don’t lose no money on Skipper.” “You don’t onderstan’ ’bout dis, Skeeter,” Shin said earnestly. “You see, I is about to marrify into Pap Curtain’s fambly, an’ he jes’ passed me de news fer my own good.” “Who is you gwine take on?” Skeeter asked. “Dat little charcoal blonde named Whiffle Boone,” Shin told him. “An’ dis Skipper hoss belongs to her maw.” “Huh,” Skeeter grunted. “Mebbe dat’s diffunt an’ mebbe not. How much change is you got to bet?” “I ain’t got none,” Shin replied sadly. “I wants to borrer a leetle. I’ll gib you a owe-bill agin’ my eatin’-house ef you’ll loant me some.” Skeeter weighed this for a minute, then said: “Us’ll fix it dis way, Shin: I’ll loant you fifty dollars on yo’ eatin’-house, pervided you’ll let me handle de money an’ manage de bets. I jes’ nachelly hates to pass out money to anodder coon.” “Dat’s all right, Skeeter,” Shin declared, a burden lifted from his heart. “All I wants is a chance to win.” “I’s gittin’ ready to close up right now, “Skeeter said, as he reached for his hat. “Us’ll mosey out to de track togedder.” * * * * * They entered the gate to find the grounds thronged with happy, eager, black faces, shiny with sweat. The band was playing, the peanut roasters were shrieking, and dozens of apron-clad, thunder-voiced negroes waved long-handled forks and howled like a wolf-pack. “Hot--hot--hot-dog!” “Lawdy,” Shin sighed. “My empty stomick is wrapped aroun’ my backbone like a wet dishrag aroun’ a dryin’-pole. I feel like I ain’t et fer fawty days!” He promptly separated himself from Skeeter Butts and lost no time in finding Whiffle Boone. “Is you had somepin to eat sence you got out here, Whiffle?” he asked eagerly. “I ain’t got nothin’ but a smell of dem hot dogs,” she smiled. “Dis is whar we chews a few,” Shin declared, as he led her away from the grandstand. “Whut wus you so snippy about when I met you uptown?” Whiffle inquired as they consumed the sausage which Shin purchased with the money he had begged from the white folks of Tickfall. “I wus figgerin’ on how to git a bet down on a winnin’ hoss, honey,” Shin laughed. “It ’peared like I couldn’t make de riffle, an’ when I seed you I had on one of dese here grouches.” “Ain’t it about time you wus bustin’ de news?” Whiffle asked. “Cain’t you tell me de name of de hoss?”