Down the line with John Henry

I was anxious to make Clara Jane think that she was all the money, so I boiled out a few plunks, trotted over to the trolley, and rushed her to the race track.

Bud was beginning to see double. Every once in a while he'd stop trying to whistle "Sallie, My Hot Tamale," and he'd look over at Clara Jane and hand her a sad, sad smile.

Then Mil and Frank dove in the mudcan, cooked a pill, placed the ball on it, slapped it in the slats, gave us the dreary day-day and were on their way.