"Long as you've been hangin' 'round the track 'n' not know what class means!" Blister looked at me pityingly. "There's no class to that," he added, with a grin.
"Seriously now," I urged. "Explain it to me. Class, as you call it, is beaten right along. Just the other day you said Exponent was the class and should have won, but he didn't."
"He has the most left at that," said Blister. "He wins in three more jumps. You can't beat class. It'll come back fur more."
"Molly S. beat him," I insisted.
"Yep, she beat him that one race," Blister admitted. "But how does she beat him? Do you notice the boy gets her away wingin' 'n' keeps her there all the trip?… Why? Because he knows she can't come from behind 'n' win. If the old hoss gets to her any place in the stretch she lays down to him sure. She ain't got the class 'n' he has. She can win a race now 'n' then when things break right fur her, but the Exponent hoss'll win anyway—on three legs if he has to. He's got the class."
"How can you get horses with class?" I inquired. "By breeding?"
"If you want it you lay down big coin fur it," Blister answered. "It follows blood lines some, but not all the time. I've seed awful dogs bred clear to the clouds. Then again it'll show in a weanlin'. I've seed sucklin' colts with class stickin' out all over 'em. Kids has it, too. It shows real young sometimes."
"How can a child show anything like that?" I remonstrated. "He has no opportunity. Class, as I understand it, is deep-seated—part of the very fiber. It takes a big situation to bring it out. Where did you ever see a child display this quality?"
"I've seed it many a time in little dirty-faced swipes," Blister stated. "I've seed exercise-boys so full of class they put the silks on 'em before they can bridle a hoss, 'n' they bawl like you've took away their apple when they lose their first race. You've heard of Hamilton?"
"I have been told he is the best sire in America," I replied, wondering where this question led.