I bought the horse and led him proudly to the stable. Next
morning an Irishman, the extra man for the haying, came in with a
worried look to breakfast.
'That new horse has a chittern' kind of a coff,' he said.
'A cough?' said I.
''Tain't jist a coff, nayther,' he said, 'but a kind of toom!'
With the last word he obligingly imitated the sound of the cough.
It threw me into perspiration.
'Sounds bad,' said Uncle Eb, as he looked at me and snickered.
''Fraid Bill ain't much of a jockey,' said David, smiling.
'Got a grand appetite - that hoss has,' said Tip Taylor.
After breakfast Uncle Eb and I hitched him to the light buggy and
touched him up for a short journey down the road. In five minutes
he had begun to heave and whistle. I felt sure one could have heard
him half a mile away. Uncle Eb stopped him and began to laugh.
'A whistler,' said he, 'sure's yer born. He ain't wuth a bag o' beans.
But don't ye never let on. When ye git licked ye musn't never fin'
fault. If anybody asks ye 'bout him tell 'em he's all ye expected.
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