WANTED--A RAINBOW
At our last meeting Blister had told me of a "ringing" in years gone by that had ended disastrously for him. And now as we idled in the big empty grand-stand a full hour before it would be electrified by the leaping phrase, "They're off!" I desired further reminiscences.
"Ringing a horse must be a risky business?" I ventured.
"Humph!" grunted Blister, evidently declining to comment on the obvious. Then he glanced at me with a dry whimsical smile. "I see that little ole pad stickin' out of your pocket," he said. "Ain't she full of race-hoss talk yet?"
"Always room for one more," I replied, frankly producing the note-book.
"Well, I guess I'm the goat," he said resignedly. "I had figured to sick you on to Peewee Simpson to-day, but he ain't around, so I'll spill some chatter about ringin' a hoss among the society bunch one time, 'n' then I'll buy a bucket of suds."
"I'll buy the beer," I stated with emphasis.
"All right—just so we get it—I'll be dryer'n a covered bridge," said Blister.
"This ringin' I mentions," he went on, "happens while I'm ruled off.