You
don't need brains--the right thing's bred into your bones. Your tempers
never show you up. We revert to the gutter at the pinch.'
"'Oh, I say! That's bally nonsense!' says the English gink. 'I would
have done the same thing.'
"'Not unless the fifteen hundred years it's taken to make you were wiped
off the slate,' says Mr. Van. 'However, I'll have to see it through now.'
"The guys that run the club say Rainbow can start in the cup race. Mr.
Van tells me, 'n' the next week I watch him while he sends the hoss over
the course. We're comin' up towards the club-house, after the work-out,
'n' we run into Miss Livingston. She hands Mr. Van the icy stare 'n' he
starts to say something but she breaks in.
"'I wonder you care to waste any words on a mere racing wager,' she says.
"'Please let me try to explain . . .' says Mr. Van.
"'There can be no explanation. What you did was the act of a boor--and a
fool,' says the dame, 'n' walks on by.
"I think over what she says. 'She's more sore cause she thinks he'll
lose than anythin' else,' I says to myself. 'He ain't in so bad, after
all.' But Mr. Van don't tumble. He's awful glum from then on.
"There's a fierce mob of swells at the course the day of the race, classy
rigs as far as you can see. The last thing I says to Mr. Van is:
"'You've got the step of them any place in the route, but you're on a
thoroughbred, 'n' he'll run hisself into the ground if you let him. You
don't know how to rate him right--so stay close to the Macbeth hoss till
you come to the last fence, then turn Rainbow loose, 'n' he'll make his
stretch-run alone.
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