She had got to the Bay Park only two days back, in charge of her rubber, Amos, and Black Tim, her jockey. Tim stood at her head, Amos was giving her lank sides their last polish, as Allys and her train swept down upon them.
Allys nodded to them gayly, as she asked: "Tim, have you come up to break New York? I hear your stable will need a special car to take home its money-after the Far and Near.
"
"Yessum, dat's so!" Tim said.
Amos scowled at him, but said to Allys, respectfully: "Please'um, don't ax dat dar fool boy no mo' 'bout de Flower-hit's mighty bad luck sayin' whut you _gwine_ do, ontwel you is done done it."
"Dar come Marse Billy Wickliffe-you kin ax him all you wanter.
" Tim giggled, then clapped his hand over his mouth. Tim was lathy-long-legged, long-armed, with an ashy-black complexion and very big eyes. As he stood fondling the Flower's nose, he glared disdain of all the other candidates, or, rather, of the knots of folk gathered admiringly about them.
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