“I never heard of such a thing,” commented Porter. “A man that would dope a two-year-old ought to be ruled off, sure.”
“I think you oughter make a kick, sir,” said Dixon, hesitatingly.
“I don't. When I squeal, Andy, it'll be when there's nothing but the voice left. I bought a horse from a man once just as he stood. I happened to know the horse, and said I didn't want any inspection—didn't want to see him, but bought him, as I say, just as he stood. When I went to the stable to get him he wasn't worth much, Andy—he was dead. Perhaps I might have made a kick about his not standing up, but I didn't.”
“Well, sir, I'm thinkin' Lauzanne's a deuced sight worse'n a dead horse; he'll cost more tryin' to win with him.”
“I dare say you're right, but he can gallop a bit.”
“When he's primed.”
“No dope for me, Andy. I never ran a dope horse and never will—I'm too fond of them to poison them.”
“I'll freshen him up a bit, sir, and we'll give him a try in a day or two. Would you mind puttin' him in a sellin' race?—he cost a bit.”
“He couldn't win anything else, and if anybody wants to claim him they can.”
“I thought of starting Diablo in that mile handicap; he's in pretty light. He's about all we've got ready.”