o 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