"
"Sol, my son, don't git excited. Yer Uncle Bud knows what he's doin'
when he's going inter this yere race. He ain't tellin' ther ole man, nor
none o' you fellers, what thar is in thet Hatrack hoss."
"Got somethin' up yer sleeve?"
"I reckon I hev. If I was a bettin' man, I'd wager my share o' Moon
Valley that Hatrack would win this yere race."
"Sho; yer don't say!"
"Ted seen him run. Ask him. Now, don't you worry none about me. I know a
hoss when I see one standin' on its four legs. That magpie hoss is a
good one, whether his name is Magpie or Idlewild. Ther name don't make
him run no better. But Hatrack is some, too, an' I want that magpie pony
for Stella. She ain't got no hoss of her own down yere, an' that spotted
pony is jest ther sort o' showy hoss what a gal likes."
"Well, I ain't wantin' ter be buttin' in none," said Sol, in a
crestfallen way.
"Yer ain't butted in none, Sol. I'm obliged ter yer fer givin' me ther
tip erbout ther old sharp. When he fust braced me I sized him up fer a
sharp, an' when he told me he was a hoss trader from Missouri I had a
straight line on him.
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