Blister Jones | Page 2

was a trainer, stood on the fence and acted as
starter. Language came from this person in volcanic blasts, and the
seething mass, where infant education was brewing, boiled and boiled
again.
"That bay filly's a nice-lookin' trick, Four Eyes!" said Blister, pointing
out a two-year-old standing somewhat apart from the rest. "She's by
Hamilton 'n' her dam's Alberta, by Seminole."
The bay filly, I soon observed, had more than beauty--she was so
obviously the outcome of a splendid and selected ancestry. Even her
manners were aristocratic. She faced the barrier with quiet dignity and
took no part in the whirling riot except to move disdainfully aside when
it threatened to engulf her. I turned to Blister and found him gazing at
the filly with a far-away look in his eyes.
"Ole Alberta was a grand mare," he said presently. "I see her get away
last in the Crescent City Derby 'n' be ten len'ths back at the quarter. But
she come from nowhere, collared ole Stonebrook in the stretch, looked
him in the eye the last eighth 'n' outgamed him at the wire. She has a
hundred 'n' thirty pounds up at that.

"Ole Alberta dies when she has this filly," he went on after a pause.
"Judge Dillon, over near Lexington, owned her, 'n' Mrs. Dillon brings
the filly up on the bottle. See how nice that filly stands? Handled every
day since she was foaled, 'n' never had a cross word. Sugar every
mawnin' from Mrs. Dillon. That's way to learn a colt somethin'."
At last the colts were formed into a disorderly line.
"Now, boys, you've got a chance--come on with 'em!" bellowed the
starter. "Not too fast . . ." he cautioned. "Awl-r-r-right . . . let 'em
go-o-!"
They were off like rockets as the barrier shot up, and the bay filly
flashed into the lead. Her slender legs seemed to bear her as though on
the breast of the wind. She did not run--she floated--yet the gap
between herself and her struggling schoolmates grew ever wider.
"Oh, you Alberta!" breathed Blister. Then his tone changed. "Most of
these wise Ikes talk about the sire of a colt, but I'll take a good dam all
the time for mine!"
Standing on my chair, I watched the colts finish their run, the filly well
in front.
"She's a wonder!" I exclaimed, resuming my seat.
"She acts like she'll deliver the goods," Blister conceded. "She's got a
lot of step, but it takes more'n that to make a race hoss. We'll know
about her when she goes the route, carryin' weight against class."
The colts were now being led to their quarters by stable-boys. When the
boy leading the winner passed, he threw us a triumphant smile.
"I guess she's bad!" he opined.
"Some baby," Blister admitted. Then with disgust: "They've hung a
fierce name on her though."
"Ain't it the truth!" agreed the boy.

"What is her name?" I asked, when the pair had gone by.
"They call her Trez Jolly," said Blister. "Now, ain't that a hell of a
name? I like a name you can kind-a warble." He had pronounced the
French phrase exactly as it is written, with an effort at the "J" following
the sibilant.
"Très Jolie--it's French," I explained, and gave him the meaning and
proper pronunciation.
"Traysyolee!" he repeated after me. "Say, I'm a rube right.
Tra-aysyole-e in the stretch byano-o-se!" he intoned with gusto. "You
can warble that!" he exclaimed.
"I don't think much of Blister--for beauty," I said. "Of course, that isn't
your real name."
"No; I had another once," he replied evasively. "But I never hears it
much. The old woman calls me 'thatdambrat,' 'n' the old man the same,
only more so. I gets Blister handed to me by the bunch one winter at
the New Awlin' meetin'."
"How?" I inquired.
"Wait till I get the makin's 'n' I'll tell you," he said, as he got up and
entered a stall.
"One winter I'm swipin' fur Jameson," he began, when he returned with
tobacco and papers. "We ships to New Awlins early that fall. We have
twelve dogs--half of 'em hop-heads 'n' the other half dinks.
"In them days I ain't much bigger 'n a peanut, but I sure thinks I'm a
clever guy. I figger they ain't a gazabo on the track can hand it to me.
"One mawnin' there's a bunch of us ginnies settin' on the fence at the
wire, watchin' the work-outs. Some trainers 'n' owners is standin' on the
track rag-chewin'.
"A bird owned by Cal Davis is finishin' a mile-'n'-a-quarter, under

wraps, in scan'lous fast time. Cal is standin' at the finish with his clock
in his hand lookin' real contented. All of a sudden the bird makes a
stagger, goes to