Whiffle promptly stepped to the fence beside him, laid a fifty-cent piece upon the top rail, and whispered one word. The man acted as if he did not hear. Whiffle turned her back and looked off across the green surrounded by the race-track, and saw Skeeter Butts and Shin Bone leave the pond in the middle of the green and walk toward the betting-shed. The negro climbed down from the fence and disappeared in the crowd. Whiffle kept her eyes on Skeeter and Shin until he had entirely disappeared. Then she turned, and where the money had been lying upon the fence there now rested a folded paper. Whiffle palmed this paper and walked slowly back to Skipper’s stall. Entering the stall, she closed the door, opened the paper and poked at the glistening crystals with the tip of her forefinger. Skipper drew near and sniffed at her hands, begging for sweetmeats. “Dis ain’t no sugar, Skipper,” she murmured, catching him by the nose. “Whoa! You’ll make me spill dis med’cine, an’ it costed me fifty cents! Whoa!” She licked a few remaining crystals off of her trembling fingers, twisted the paper into a tiny wad and walked out of the stall. “Huh!” she sighed as she wiped the bitter taste from her lips. “Ef Pap seed me lickin’ dat he’d kill me!” VIII DISASTER. Skeeter Butts and Shin Bone stood in the crowd at one of the entrances of the grandstand and frowned and sneered at the importunate negroes who crowded around them. “Lend us jes’ a dollar or two, Skeeter,” they pleaded. “Ef we could git a leetle start, mebbe we could win some of our money back.” “I ain’t loantin’ no money,” Skeeter proclaimed. “I’s jes’ bettin’ money, an’ I done bet all I’m got an’ couldn’t loant none ef I wanted to.” At that moment Pap Curtain joined the group, waving five twenty-dollar bills. He had wasted much time trying to locate Skeeter and Shin. “Put up or shet up, Skeeter!” he howled gleefully. “Here am one hunderd dollars whut say dat Skipper wins dis race.” “Bless gracious, Pap,” Skeeter grinned. “I figgered dat I had you bust. Ef I’d ’a’ knowed you had a single dollar lef’ I’d shore been to see you. Now I done bet all I’m got.” “Put up de Hen-Scratch saloon!” Pap taunted. “I’ll bet you on anything you is got.” “I got a race-hoss,” Skeeter grinned. “I’ll bet Nigger Blackie agin fifty dollars dat Skipper don’t win.” “I takes it,” Pap said promptly. “I’m got a Nigger Blackie race-hoss, too, Pap,” Shin Bone suggested with a loud laugh. “You seed me on him dis mawnin’.” “I bets you ten dollars agin _yo’_ race-hoss,” Pap said promptly. “I takes it,” Shin snickered. Pap turned away with forty dollars, and found no trouble in placing it on Skipper, with odds against his horse of ten to one. It was the last race of the day, and business was brisk. The losers were squealing and begging money, hoping for a chance to repair their fortunes. The winners were whooping and resorting to every means in their power to push their luck to the limit and add to their loot.