"I think Cuddy's got something in his head, some plan if he gets out.
I think he wants to kill some one before he dies. Yes, sir, _kill_
him. And you know if he gets the start of you there is no stopping
the dirty devil."
"Yes, he does tear a bit," Geth admitted. "But I never was on a
surer jumper. Lord! How the old horse can lift you!" Gething dropped
into a disconsolate silence, interrupted before long by Willet.
"Happiness will get Cuddy's box--she's in a stall. Cuddy was always
mean to her--used to go out of his way to kick her--and she, sweet
as a kitten."
"So you'll give her his box in revenge?"
"Revenge? Oh, no sir. Just common sense." Any thought of a
sentimental revenge was distasteful to the trainer, but he was glad
that good Happiness should get his box and disappointed about the
soap. It would have lent relish to his somewhat perfunctory washings
to say to himself, "Doubtless this here bit of soap is a piece of
old Cuddy."
"How long will the trench take?"
"A good bit of time, sir. Cuddy isn't no kitten we're laying by.
I'll put them gardeners on the job--with your permission--and they
know how to shovel. You'll want an old saddle on him?"
"No, no, the one I've raced him in, number twelve, and his old
bridle with the chain bit.
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