"Ah!" said Old Man Curry, and he paced the entire length of the barn before he spoke again.
"Well, you see, son, it's this way about cutting a melon. You want to be sure it ain't green ... or rotten."
"Huh?"
Old Man Curry placed his hand on the Kid's shoulder.
"My boy," said he, kindly, "you make a living by—by sort of advising folks what to bet on, don't you? If they're kind of halting between two opinions, as the Book says, you sort of—help 'em out, eh!"
The Bald-faced Kid grinned broadly.
"I guess that's about the size of it," said he.
"Well, if you've got any reg'lar customers, don't invite 'em to have a slice of Engle's melon next Tuesday. It might disagree with 'em."
"But I don't see how you're going to get away from Elisha! He's fit and ready and right on edge. You can throw out his last three races. He's good enough to win without any framing."
"I know he is, son. Didn't I train him? Now you've told me something that I've been trying to find out, and I've told you something you never could find out. Don't ask me any more.... No use talking, Frank, Solomon was a great man. Some time I hope to have a race hoss fit to be named after him. I've never seen one yet."