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Show FUTILE FABLES r Tv . Somewhere between the office and the restaurant where he was to meet his wife for lunch, little Mr. Merton ducked into a door for a quick one and also to put a few bucks on the nose of a nag. But all was not well. "Mule" Swedge, the barkeep who was as big as a plow puller and just about as smart, had tears in his eyes. And he shoved Mr. Merton's money back at him and quavered: "No more bets took here, guy. I ain't one of dem Princeton guys goin' to de old Elmer Mstter up by Lake Kyooka or somewheres. I can't read dese dopey names de nag owners, own-ers, what don't want to see nobody make a honest livin, hangs on dere race horses. Look at dis list!" Mr. Merton looked and saw Halcyon Hal-cyon Days, Richelieu, Bimilech and Urbanite, and Hyacinth and Persi-ana, Persi-ana, and some more; and Mule said: "De guys dat call up here and want to bet can't purnounce 'em, needer, and I git all balled up and put dere dough on de wrong nag, and . . ." Mule just couldn't go on. He put his big head, bone and ail, down on the bar and wept. |