I'll allow he's blooded, but he
thinks this a dead cert. Lemme see, fifty-one an' two make fifty-
three. No clip at all. Gosh! what a game, what a game! Why, there's
Mandy a-sittin' up with Mis' Root. I'll jest sashay acrost the track
an' give 'em my regards."
Mandy was atop a red-wheeled spring wagon. A sailor hat--price,
trimmed, forty-five cents--overshadowed her smiling face, and a new
dress cleverly fashioned out of white cheese cloth, embellished her
person. She had been watching her lover closely for upwards of an
hour, but expressed superlative surprise at seeing him.
"Why, Nal," she said demurely "this ain't you? You are acquainted with
Mis' Root, I guess?"
Nal removed his cap with a flourish, and Mrs. Root, a large,
lymphatic, prolific female, entreated him to ascend the wagon and sit
down.
"You have a horse runnin', Mister Roberts?"
"Yes, marm, By-Jo."
"By what?"
"By Diamond," replied Rinaldo, glibly, "outer Cap Wilson's old Sally.
She was by----"
"Mis' Root didn't catch the name right," interrupted Mandy. "It's By-
Jo, Mis' Root--that's French."
"Mercy me, ain't that nice--quite toney.
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