n 'n' I'll be on my way,' says Peewee.

"'I puts the oil in that lantern,' I says, ''n' she sets right where
she is till she makes her last flicker.'

"'Cut it! Cut it!' says Butsy, spreadin' out his hoss paper. 'Act
like you has some sense, 'n' I puts you hep to a hot scheme I gets out
of this paper--us three can pull it off to a finish!'

"'I don't want in on no scheme with that lantern snatcher!' says Peewee
then to me.

"'If you don't age some,' I says to Peewee, 'nursie'll come around
here, 'n' put a nice fresh panty-waist on you!'

"Then Butsy goes ahead 'n' tells us the frame-up. He shows us an ad in
his paper askin' fur entries to race over the Ohio Short Ship Circuit.
This circuit is a bunch of race meets that's held on the bull rings at
county fairs up through the state. They're trottin' races mostly, but
they give one runnin' race at a different town each week.

"'Now,' says Butsy, 'I'm born 'n' raised in Mount Clinton, Ohio. I
sees the race meet there frequent 'n' she's a peach. You can have a
hoss lay down 'n' go to sleep on the track if you don't want him to win
'n' then tell the judges he's got spring fever. Everything goes except
murder. We'll take that black stud of mine 'n' Peewee's bay geldin'
'n' hit this punkin circuit. We can win a purse each week fur
travelin' expenses, 'n' what we cops on the side is velvet.'

"'What do you want me fur?' I says.

"'Why,' says Butsy, 'at these county fairs there ain't no bookies.
They just bets from hand to hand. While me 'n' Peewee rides, you
sashay out among the rubes 'n' get the coin down on whichever hoss we
frames to win.'

"We sets there 'n' talks over the proposition most all night. Butsy
says it's a cinch 'n' it ain't long till me 'n' Peewee figgers he's got
it doped right.

"'Let's go against it, Blister,' Peewee says to me. 'What do you say,
old pal?'

"'I'm there with bells on,' I says, 'n' that settles it. I ships my
colts to Judge Dillon, 'n' the next week we start.

"These punkin races is all half-mile dashes, best two out of three.
Peewee's geldin' is a distance hoss--he don't get goin' good under a
mile. In a bull-ring sprint he ain't got a chance with this black stud
of Butsy's.

"Our game is to have Butsy turn his dash-hound loose the first heat.
Then I ambulates out among the rubes 'n' acts like I'm willing to bet
on the bay geldin'. If I finds a live one, Butsy takes his hoss up in
his lap the last two trips 'n'