"Oh, no, Uncle Zack! But tell me 'bout mine, first!"
The old negro stopped stock still and looked down with a frown.
"You'se de mos' pestiferistes' pusson on dis heah place!" Then, catching an inspiration, he asked: "Why does you swaller when you'se chawin' a piece of cake?"
"I don't know;—just do. I reckon!"
"Dar now, Mesmie, ain' he a smart li'l man?" the old fellow chuckled. "Dat's de ve'y reason—you jes' do! An' dat's 'zackly what de knuckles does—dey jes' do! Now, since we done relieve ourse'ves on dat pint, le's move 'long!"
Both seemed to have forgotten the discussion on thoroughbreds, but the old negro still pretended to be haughty; and now, slowly approaching the mule which narrowly watched from the corner of his eye, he casually observed:
"De ve'y idee of sayin' mah mule's lazy! Why, he kin nacherly out-run de life outen a li'l sawed-off dumplin' lak one I sees standin' 'round heah!"
This was the touch of spark to powder. The boy thrust his hand deep into his pocket, brought it forth and opened it, then stepped quickly forward:
"I'll bet you a nickel—an' here it is—that Daniel an' I can beat you to the pike an' back!"
"Keep 'way! Keep 'way, son!" the old man hastily warned. "Keep 'way from his heah whirlwind!"