otice the boy gets her away wingin' 'n' keeps her
there all the trip? . . . Why? Because he knows she can't come from
behind 'n' win. If the old hoss gets to her any place in the stretch
she lays down to him sure. She ain't got the class 'n' he has. She
can win a race now 'n' then when things break right fur her, but the
Exponent hoss'll win anyway--on three legs if he has to. He's got the
class."

"How can you get horses with class?" I inquired. "By breeding?"

"If you want it you lay down big coin fur it," Blister answered. "It
follows blood lines some, but not all the time. I've seed awful dogs
bred clear to the clouds. Then again it'll show in a weanlin'. I've
seed sucklin' colts with class stickin' out all over 'em. Kids has it,
too. It shows real young sometimes."

"How can a child show anything like that?" I remonstrated. "He has no
opportunity. Class, as I understand it, is deep-seated--part of the
very fiber. It takes a big situation to bring it out. Where did you
ever see a child display this quality?"

"I've seed it many a time in little dirty-faced swipes," Blister
stated. "I've seed exercise-boys so full of class they put the silks
on 'em before they can bridle a hoss, 'n' they bawl like you've took
away their apple when they lose their first race. You've heard of
Hamilton?"

"I have been told he is the best sire in America," I replied, wondering
where this question led.

"I won't say that," said Blister. "There's a lot of good hosses at
stud in this land-of-the-free-when-you-pay-fur-it, but he's up there
with the best of 'em. Did you know I owns him once myself?"

"Not the great Hamilton?" I protested.

"Yep, the great all-the-time, anyhow-'n'-any-place Hamilton," Blister
assured me. "'N' speakin' of class in kids 'n' colts, lemme tell you
about it." He reached for his "makin's" and I waited while he rolled a
cigarette, this process being a necessary prelude to a journey into his
past.

"The year Seattle Sam goes down 'n' out," the words came in a cloud of
cigarette smoke, "I'm at Saratoga. This Seattle is one of the big
plungers, his nod's good with the bookies fur anything he wants to lay,
'n' he sure bets 'em to the sky. He owns a grand string of hosses, 'n'
when one of 'em's out to win, believe me, he carries the coin!"

"All the same they get him at last 'n' there ain't nothin' else talked
about fur a couple of days when the word goes 'round that he's cleaned.
The