Blister Jones Part 34

"'It's straight,' he says, when he comes back. 'But it ain't possible!'

"'Who owns this colt?' he says, after he's looked at the leg some more.

"'I do,' I says. 'I just give a hundred 'n' thirty fur him.'

"'What did you ever buy _him_ for?' he says.

"I studies a minute, a-lookin' at Hamilton.

"'I've got softenin' of the brain, I guess,' I says.

"'He's a nice made thing,' says the vet. 'How's he bred?'

"I tells him, 'n' he looks at the leg some more, 'n' then walks 'round the colt a couple a times.

"'I tell you what I'll do,' he says after while. 'I'll take him off your hands at just what you paid. I'm givin' it to you straight--_this hoss wont never do more than walk_. But he's bred out a sight 'n' I like his looks. There's a chance somebody could use him in the stud.

I'm willin' to get him in some sort-a shape 'n' see if I can't make a piece of money on him. What do you say?"

"'Well,' I says, 'you're fixed better to get him in shape'n me. I just wanted to give the little hoss a show. If _you'll_ give it to him, he's yours.'

"'Here's your money,' says the vet. 'I'll send my wagon for him to-morrow. Let me have a lantern till I get this leg so it won't hurt him so bad to-night.'

"The next day every paper I picks up has a great big write-up in it about Micky 'n' the colt. Until the wagon comes fur him there's a regular procession to the stall to look at Hamilton, 'n' when I goes to the hospital that night you can't see Micky fur flowers around his bed.

"'h.e.l.l!' says Micky. 'Do they think I'm a stiff?'

"'Sh-h-h!' says the sister that's nursin' him.

"I don't see Hamilton fur a month. One day I goes over to the big Eastern sale at New York, just to hear ole Pappy Danforth sell 'em.

Pappy's stood on a block all his life. He knows every hoss-man in the country. When _he_ tells you about a hoss, it's right; 'n' everybody takes his tip. He just about sells 'em where they ought to go.

"There's a fierce crowd at the sale 'n' some grand stuff goes under the hammer. Pappy kids the crowd along 'n' sells 'em so fast it makes you dizzy. They don't more'n lead a hoss out till he's gone.

"All of a sudden Pappy climbs clear up on the desk in front of him 'n'

stands there a minute, pus.h.i.+n' back his long white hair.

"'Na-ow, boys!' he says. 'I'm goin' to sell you a three-legged hoss!

An'--listen to the ole man--he's wuth more'n any four-legged hoss, livin' or dead!'

"I rubbers hard to get a look at a hoss Pappy boosts like that, 'n' I nearly croaks when they lead Hamilton into the ring. The colt's a d.i.n.k, right. He's stiff as a poker behind, but he's still got that game-c.o.c.k look to his eye.

"'Na-ow, boys!' sings out Pappy, 'there's the biggest little hoss ever you saw! Don't look at him--any of you fellahs that wants a yellah dawg to win a cheap race with! _He_ ain't in _that_ cla.s.s. Step forwahd, you breeders, an' grasp a golden opportunity! Send the best brood mares you've got to this little hoss . . . he's a giant! _You hear me--a giant_! Ed Tumble, I'm talkin' to you! I'm talkin' to you, Bill Masters--an' Harry Scott there . . . an' Judge Dillon . . . an'

all you big breeders! You've _read_ what this little hoss done in the newspapers. You can _see_ his breedin' in your catalogues. You can _look him over_ as he stands there! But best of all--_listen to the old man_! when he tells you he never held a hammer over a better one in fifty years. Na-ow, boys! I'm goin' to sell him for the high dollah, an' the man who gets him at any price . . . _you hear me--at any price_! . . . is goin' to have the laugh on the rest of you fellahs!

Aw-l-l right--_what do I hear_?'

"'Five hundred!' says some guy.

"'Why, Frank, five hundred won't buy a hair out of his tail . . . _what do I hear_?' says Pappy.

"'Two thousand!' yells somebody.

"'Na-ow listen, Tom, if you want the little hoss, cut out this triflin'

an' bid for him,' says Pappy. '_What do I hear_?'

"'Five thousand!' some guy hollers.

"'That's just a nice little start . . . _what do I hear_?' says Pappy, 'n' I goes into a trance.

"I don't come to till I hears Pappy sing out:

"'So-o-ld to you for sixteen thousand dollahs, Mr. Humphrey, _an' you never bought a cheaper one_!'

"It's a wonder I ain't run over gettin' to the depot. I don't know where I'm at. I just keeps sayin' 'sixteen thousand--sixteen thousand--' over 'n' over to myself. I beats it out to the hospital when I gets back, to tell Micky. They're goin' to let him out in a day or so 'n' Micky's settin' up in a chair with wheels to it.

"'Give a guess what Hamilton brings in the Big Eastern,' I says to him.

"'I dunno,' says he. 'How much?'

"'Sixteen thousand bucks!' I says. 'How does that lay on your stummick?'

"'h.e.l.l!' says Micky. 'That ain't nothin'--look-a-here!'

"He shoves a paper at me he's been holdin' in his mitt. It's a ridin'

contract fur two years with the Ogden stable at ten thousand a year.

"So you see, just like I tells you," Blister wound up, "they lay down real money fur _cla.s.s_."

"The man who bought the horse," I said, "certainly got what he paid for--everybody knows _now_ that Hamilton has cla.s.s. But how about the boy?"

"Did you ever see Vincent ride?" Blister looked at me inquiringly.

"I saw him ride once in the English Derby," I replied. "Why?"

"Well," said Blister, "his mother lives in New York in a brownstone house he bought her, with two Swede girls to do as much work as she'll let 'em. When he comes home, she calls him 'Micky.' Is there cla.s.s to him?"

"Yes," I said, "there's cla.s.s to him."

EXIT BUTSY

"What's all them rubes got ribbons on 'em fur?" asked Blister.

I followed his gaze to a group of variously garbed men and women who had just rounded the paddock, and who slowly bore down upon us as they drifted from stall to stall in a haphazard inspection of the great racing plant at Latonia. Prominent upon the person of each member of this party was a bountiful strip of yellow ribbon. The effect was decidedly gay.

I had encountered similar ribbons in every nook and cranny of the Queen City during the last few days, and I knew that each bore in thirty-six point Gothic condensed, the words, "Ohio State Grange."

"Those are Ohio farmers and their wives who are attending a convention in Cincinnati," I explained. "The ribbons are convention badges."