"'Are you the owner of Count Noble, Mr.—er—?'
"'Jones, sir,' I says.
"'Jones?' says the colonel.
"'Yes, sir,' I says.
"'Mr. Jones,' says the colonel, 'how do you account for the fact that on Thursday Count Noble performs disgracefully, and on Saturday runs like a stake horse? Have the days of the week anything to do with it?'
"I never says nothin'. I just stands there lookin' at him, foolin' with my hat.
"'This is hell," I thinks.
"'The judges are interested in this phenomenon, Mr. Jones, and we have sent for you, thinking perhaps you can throw a little light on the matter,' says the colonel, 'n' waits fur me again.
"'Come on … get busy!' I says to myself. 'You can kid along with a bunch of bums, 'n' it sounds good—don't get cold feet the first time some class opens his bazoo at you!' But I can't make a noise like a word, on a bet.
"'The judges, upon looking over the betting sheets of the two races in which your horse appeared, find them quite interesting,' says the colonel. 'The odds were short in the race he did not win; they remained unchanged—in fact, rose—since only a small amount was wagered on his chances. On the other hand, these facts are reversed in to-day's race, which he won. It seems possible that you and your friends who were pessimists on Thursday became optimists today, and benefited by the change. Have you done so?'