"Once more," yelled the pool-selling person, in raucous tones. "Once
more, boys! I'm sellin' once more the half-mile dash! I've one hundred
dollars for Comet; how much fer second choice? Be lively there. Sixty
dollars!!! Go the five, five, five! Thank ye, sir, you're a dead game
sport. Bijou fer sixty-five dollars. How much am I bid fer the field?"
The field sold for fifty, and the auctioneer glanced at Mr. Bobo, who
shook his head and shuffled away. Ten consecutive times he had bought
pools. Ten consecutive times Mr. Rinaldo Roberts had paid, by proxy,
sixty-five dollars for the privilege of naming By-Jo as second choice
to the son of Meteor.
"Fifteen hunderd," mumbled the old man to himself. "Five las' night
an' ten to-day. It's a sure shot, that's what it is, a sure shot. I
worked him out in fifty-one seconds. Oh, Lord, what a clip! in fifty-
one," he repeated with his abominable chuckle, "an' Nal's filly has
never done better than fifty-two. Nal didn't buy no pools. He knows
better."
By a queer coincidence Mr. Roberts was also indulging in pleasing
introspection.
"The old cuss," he mused, "is blooded.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319