"'Don't never mention it,' I says.
"'How do you mean that?' he says, grinnin'.
"'Both ways,' says I.
"The mawnin' of the race, I'm givin' the bird's bad leg a steamin', when a black swipe named Duckfoot Johnson tells me I'm wanted on the phone over to the secretary's office, 'n' I gets Duckfoot to go on steamin' the leg while I'm gone.
"It's a feed man on the phone, wantin' to know when he gets sixteen bucks I owe him.
"'The bird'll bring home your coin at four o'clock this afternoon,' I tells him.
"'Well, that's lucky,' he says. 'I thought it was throwed to the birds, 'n' I didn't figure they'd bring it home again.'
"When I gets back there's a crap game goin' on in front of the stall, 'n' Duckfoot's shootin'. There's a hot towel on the bird's leg, 'n' it's been there too long. I takes it off 'n' feel where small blisters has begun to raise under the hair—a little more 'n' it 'ud been clear to the bone. I cusses Duckfoot good, 'n' rubs vaseline into the leg."
I interrupted Blister long enough to inquire:
"Don't they blister horses sometimes to cure them of lameness?"