"'Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto him,'" quoted Old Man Curry, "and that's sound advice, my son. When a fool gets an idea crossways in his head, nothing but a cold chisel will get it out again, and, anyway, people don't thank you for pointing out their mistakes. It's human nature to get mad at a man that can prove he knows more than you do. This Hopwood has got it all whittled down to a fine point how he's going to do right well at the racing game, and the best way is to let him try it a while. It'll cost him money to find out that a grocery store is a safer place for him than a race track. 'A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back.' That's Solomon again. Hopwood has got the gad coming to him for sure."
"Ain't that the truth!" exclaimed the Kid. "By the way, did he mention the name of the beetle that's going to do all this heavy work?"
"That's the best joke of all," said Old Man Curry. "Hopwood stables down at the end of the line, where Gilfeather used to be. Go take a look at what they sold him for five hundred dollars."
"I'll do that little thing," said the Kid, rising. "If he's got any dough left, I may want to sell him something myself!"
Little Calamity was in the box stall, industriously grooming a tall, wild-eyed chestnut animal with four white stockings and a blaze, and as he worked he hummed a tune under his breath. The tune stopped when he became aware of a head thrust in at the open door. The Bald-faced Kid glanced at the horse and his jaw dropped.
"Well, by the limping Lazarus!" he ejaculated. "If they haven't gone and slipped him Last Chance! Yes, I'd know that darned old hay hound if he was stuffed and in a museum, and, by golly, that's where he ought to be! Last Chance!"
"What's it to you?" growled Little Calamity sullenly. "Can't you mind your own business?"
"Your boss is in big luck," continued the visitor, pleasantly ignoring Calamity's manner. "The worst horse and the worst jock in the world—a prize package for fair! Last Chance! His name ought to be No Chance!"
"Now looka here," whined Calamity, "I never tried to queer anything for you, did I? Live and let live; that's what I say, and let a guy get by if he can. If you was right up against it and had a chance to grab off eating money, you wouldn't want anybody around knocking, would you? On the level?"
He looked up as he finished, and the Bald-faced Kid's heart smote him. Little Calamity's face was thinner than ever, there were hollows under his wandering eyes, and in them the anxious, wistful look of a half-starved cur which has found a bone and fears that it will be taken away from him. It occurred to the Kid that even a rat like Gillis might have feelings—such feelings as may be touched by hunger and physical discomfort. And there was no mistaking the desperate earnestness of his plea.