"'Na-ow, boys!' he says. 'I'm goin' to sell you a three-legged hoss!
An'--listen to the ole man--he's wuth more'n any four-legged hoss,
livin' or dead!'
"I rubbers hard to get a look at a hoss Pappy boosts like that, 'n' I
nearly croaks when they lead Hamilton into the ring. The colt's a
dink, right. He's stiff as a poker behind, but he's still got that
game-cock look to his eye.
"'Na-ow, boys!' sings out Pappy, 'there's the biggest little hoss ever
you saw! Don't look at him--any of you fellahs that wants a yellah
dawg to win a cheap race with! _He_ ain't in _that_ class. Step
forwahd, you breeders, an' grasp a golden opportunity! Send the best
brood mares you've got to this little hoss . . . he's a giant! _You
hear me--a giant_! Ed Tumble, I'm talkin' to you! I'm talkin' to you,
Bill Masters--an' Harry Scott there . . . an' Judge Dillon . . . an'
all you big breeders! You've _read_ what this little hoss done in the
newspapers. You can _see_ his breedin' in your catalogues. You can
_look him over_ as he stands there! But best of all--_listen to the
old man_! when he tells you he never held a hammer over a better one in
fifty years. Na-ow, boys! I'm goin' to sell him for the high dollah,
an' the man who gets him at any price . . . _you hear me--at any
price_! . . . is goin' to have the laugh on the rest of you fellahs!
Aw-l-l right--_what do I hear_?'
"'Five hundred!' says some guy.
"'Why, Frank, five hundred won't buy a hair out of his tail .
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