"'What dead one's name is on all them soovenirs?' I says, pointin' to the tickets.
"'Mr. Blister,' he says, 'after our conversation yesterday I made inquiry concerning the rights of a trainer. I was informed that a trainer, as a paid employee, is under the direction of the owner—his employer. You refused to allow my horse to win, contrary to my wishes. You had no right to do so. I intend that he shall win, and have wagered accordingly—these tickets are on Alcyfras.' He's nervous 'n' fidgity, 'n' his voice is squeakier 'n ever.
"'Well, Mr. Belmont,' I says, 'did you happen to give instructions to any more of your employees, your jockey, fur instance?'
"'I have adopted the method you informed me was the correct one,' he says, swellin' up. 'I gave a ticket at fifty-to-one calling for one hundred and two dollars to Mr. Smith, and explained to him that I was the owner.'
"Before Elsy gets through I'm dopey. I looks over his tickets 'n' he figures to win eight thousand to the race. I have two iron men in my jeans—I don't even go down 'n' bet it.
"'What's the use?' I says to myself.
"I can't hardly see the race, I'm so groggy from the jolt Elsy hands me. Friendless breaks in front and stays there all the way. Lou Smith just sets still 'n' lets the hoss rate hisself. That ole hound comes down the stretch a-rompin', his ears flick-flackin' 'n' a smile on his face. He wins by five len'ths 'n' busts the track record fur the distance a quarter of a second.
"Then it begins to get brisk around there. I figger to have Alcyfras all warmed up outside the fence the day Friendless wins. After the race I'd put him in the stall 'n' send Friendless out the gate. Elsy, practisin' the owner act, has gummed the game—Alcyfras is over in the other end of town.
"Ole Friendless bustin' the track record is the final blow. I don't hardly get to the stall 'fore here comes the paddock judge 'n' his assistant.
"'We want this hoss and you, too, over at the paddock,' he says. 'What's the owner's name?'