Pop shambled here and there, smoking cigarettes furiously and keeping a keen ear toward the loudest betting.

He came sidling up to Bud, who was leading Smoky out of the stable, and his sharp eyes took in every inch of the horse and went inquiringly to Bud's face.
"Goin' to run him, young feller--lame as what he is ?" he demanded sharply.
"Going to try, anyway," said Bud.

"I've got a bet up on him, dad." "Sho! Fixin' to lose, air ye?
You kin call it off, like as not.

Jeff ain't so onreason'ble 't he'd make yuh run a lame horse.

Air yuh, Jeff ?" Jeff strolled up and looked Smoky over with critical eyes.