I'll hypnotize the old owls. I'll give 'em a song 'n' dance that's
right!'
"As I goes up the steps I see the judges settin' in their chairs, 'n' I
takes off my hat. Colonel King ain't settin', he's standin' up with
his hands in his pockets. Somehow, when I sees _him_ I begins to
wilt--he looks so clean. He's got a white mustache, 'n' his face is
kind-a brown 'n' pink. He looks at me a minute out of them blue eyes
of his.
"'Are you the owner of Count Noble, Mr.--er--?'
"'Jones, sir,' I says.
"'Jones?' says the colonel.
"'Yes, sir,' I says.
"'Mr. Jones,' says the colonel, 'how do you account for the fact that
on Thursday Count Noble performs disgracefully, and on Saturday runs
like a stake horse? Have the days of the week anything to do with it?'
"I never says nothin'. I just stands there lookin' at him, foolin'
with my hat.
"'This is hell," I thinks.
"'The judges are interested in this phenomenon, Mr. Jones, and we have
sent for you, thinking perhaps you can throw a little light on the
matter,' says the colonel, 'n' waits fur me again.
"'Come on . . . get busy!' I says to myself. 'You can kid along with a
bunch of bums, 'n' it sounds good--don't get cold feet the first time
some class opens his bazoo at you!' But I can't make a noise like a
word, on a bet.
"'The judges, upon looking over the betting sheets of the two races in
which your horse appeared, find them quite interesting,' says the
colonel. 'The odds were short in the race he did _not_ win; they
remained unchanged--in fact, rose--since only a small amount was
wagered on his chances.
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