"Gabe! Oh, Gabe! Now where is that good-for-nothing old nigger?"
"Comin', suh, comin'," answered Gabe, shuffling along the line of stalls. "Yo' want to see me, boss?"
"Shut the door behind you," growled Pitkin. "I was thinking it was about time we cut this Sergeant Smith colt loose."
"Yes, suh," answered Gabe. "He's ready to go, boss."
"How good is he?" demanded Pitkin.
"Well, suh," replied Gabe, "he's a heap better'n whut he's been showin' lately, that's a fact."
"Can he beat horses like Calloway and Hartshorn?"
"He kin if he gits a chance."
"How do you mean, a chance?"
"Well, suh, if he gits a good, hones' ride, fo' one thing. He been messed all oveh the race track las' few times out."