"Yes," continued Old Man Curry, "they had it back an' forth up that road, hot an' heavy. I expect maybe Zanzibar got a chill from sweatin' so hard."
Out of the whirl of Mr. Johnson's remarks and statements of intention Curry selected one.
"No," said he, "I reckon you won't beat that German kid to death. He didn't know any better. You won't lay a finger on him, because why? He's on a railroad train by now, goin' home to Cincinnati. I reckoned his mother might like to see him. And you ain't goin' to make no trouble for me, Johnson. Not a mite. You might whip a little kid, you big, bulldozin' windbag, but I reckon you won't stand up to a man, no matter how old he is!"
"I—I'll have your entries refused!"
"Don't go to no such trouble as that," was the soothing reply. "There won't be no more Curry entries at this track. A just man might fall down seven times again in such a nest of thieves an' robbers! Tell that to your judges, an' be damned!"
And, head erect, shoulders squared, and eyes flashing, Old Man Curry started for the betting ring to collect his due.
EGYPTIAN CORN
"Well, you great big hammer-headed lobster, what have you got to say for yourself, eh? Don't stand there and look wise when I'm talking to you! Ain't there a race in this country long enough for you to win? A mile and a half ought to give you a chance to open up and step, but what do you do? You come last, just beginning to warm up and go some! Sometimes I think I ought to sell you to a soap factory, you clumsy false alarm, you ugly old fraud, you cross between a mud turtle and a carpenter's bench, you——"