"Never mind," thought the lad. "I'll win his cash all right."
In the morning there was a row in the stable where Nemo was kept. Toots was found vigorously punishing a flashily dressed negro.
"Tek dat, yo' dirty brack nigger!" shouted Toots, as he smashed the other fellow on the nose. "Yo' cayn't com' 'roun' dis chile wid none ob yere 'swinuations an' yore offers ob money to throw de race! I'll kick part ob yore panjaloons clean out frough de top of yore hade, yo' brack son ob a gun!"
The colored boy fought like a furious tiger, and the other fellow, after trying to strike back a few times, took to his heels, leaving a smashed silk hat behind him.
"What's the matter, Toots?" asked Frank, who had rushed to the scene of the conflict, accompanied by others.
"Mattah, sar?" cried Toots, fiercely. "Why, dat brack whelp come call me out ob de stall har, an' he says to me, says he, 'If yo' pulls Nemo so he don' take a purse it am wuff two hundred dollars to yo'.' An' he flashes his roll ob bills in mah face. I didn't wait fo' no mo' conwersashun, sar, but I jes' soaked him a dandy under der ear."
"Good boy, Toots!" laughed Frank. "You're all right!"
"Well, w'en dey fools 'roun' dis chile dey strikes hot stuff," grinned the boy.