Yoh times are bad,
young man!' he says. 'They have succeeded in staining the puhple and
white at the vehy end. Ah would neveh have raced afteh to-day. It was
a whim of an old man to see his colohs once moh among a field of
hawses. Ah knew Ah was not of this day. Ah should have known bettah
than to become a paht of it even foh a little time. Ah have learned ma
lesson,' he says, lookin' up at me. 'But you have made it vehy bittah.'
"He looks down at the tickets again fur a minute. . . Then he tears
'em across three ways 'n' drops 'em on the ground."
CLASS
"What do you like in the handicap?" I asked, looking up from the form
sheet.
Blister reached for the paper.
"Indigo's the class," he said, after a glance at the entries. "If they
run to form, he'll cop."
"There you go again--with your _class_!" I exclaimed. "You're always
talking about class. What does class mean?"
"Long as you've been hangin' 'round the track 'n' not know what class
means!" Blister looked at me pityingly. "There's no _class_ to that,"
he added, with a grin.
"Seriously now," I urged. "Explain it to me. Class, as you call it,
is beaten right along. Just the other day you said Exponent was the
class and should have won, but he didn't."
"He has the most left at that," said Blister. "He wins in three more
jumps. You can't beat class. It'll come back fur more."
"Molly S. beat him," I insisted.
"Yep, she beat him that one race," Blister admitted.
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