' hook 'em to a hot wagon painted yellow,
'n' the company's main squeeze, named Brown, comes up to see 'em act.
I'm facin' the door just as a guy starts to lead a hoss into the
show-ring. The pair swings by, this hoss shies back sudden 'n' I see him
make a queer move with his off rear leg. Brown don't see it--he's got
his back to the door.

"The guy leads the hoss up to us.

"'Here's that hunter I phoned you about, Mr. Brown,' he says. The hoss
is a toppy trick--bright bay, short backed, good coupled 'n' 'll weigh
eleven hundred strong. But he's got a knot on his near-fore that shows
plain.

"'I thought you told me he was sound?' says Brown, lookin' at the knot.

"'What's the matter with you, Mr. Brown?' says the guy. 'That little
thing don't bother him. Any eight-year-old hunter that knows the game is
bound to be blemished in front.'

"'Can you tell an unsound one when you look at him?' Brown asks me.

"'I can smell a dink a mile off,' I says.

"'Here's an outside party,' says Brown; 'let's hear what he has to say.
Feel that bump, young man!' he says to me.

"I runs my hand over the knot.

"'That don't hurt him,' I says. 'It's on the shin 'n' part of it's thick
skin.'

"'There!' says the guy. 'Your own man's against you.'

"'He's not my man,' says Brown, lookin' at me disgusted.

"'This ain't my funeral,' I says to Brown. ''N' I ain't had a call to
butt in. If you tells me to butt--I butts.'

"'Go to it,' says Brown.

"'Do you throw a crutch in with this one?' I says to the guy.

"'What does he need a crutch for?' he says, givin' me a sour look.

"I takes the hoss by the head, backs him real sudden, 'n' he lifts the
off-rear high 'n' stiff.

"'He's a stringer,' I says.

"Brown gives the guy the laugh.

"'You might get thirty dollars from a Jew pedler for him,' he says.
'He'll make a high-class hunter--for paper, rags and old iron.'

"'How did you know that horse was string-halted so quick?' says Brown to
me when the guy has gone.

"'I told you I can smell a dink,' I says. But I don't tell him what I
sees at the door.

"'I think we could use you and your nose around here,' he says. 'Are you
stuck on Chicago?'

"'Me fur this joint,' I says, lookin' 'round. 'Do I have to get my hair
waved more 'n' twict a week?'

"'We'll waive that in your case,' he says, laughin' at his bum joke.

"'Don't do that again,' I says. 'I've a notion to quit right here.'

"'I'd hate to lose an old