Garrison’s Finish Book PDF Download

irty deal? Answer, you cur! Spit it out before the crowd.
Was it me? Was it me?” he reiterated in a frenzy, taking a step
forward for each word, his bad grammar coming equally to the fore.

The crowd surged back. Owner and jockey were face to face. “When
thieves fall out!” they thought; and they waited for the fun.
Something was due them. It came in a flash. Waterbury shot out his big
fist, and little Garrison thumped on the turf with a bang, a thin
streamer of blood threading its way down his gray-white face.

“You miserable little whelp!” howled his owner. “You’ve dishonored me.
You threw that race, damn you! That’s what I get for giving you a
chance when you couldn’t get a mount anywhere.” His long pent-up venom
was unleashed. “You threw it. You’ve tried to make me party to your
dirty work–me, me, me!”–he thumped his heaving chest. “But you can’t
heap your filth on me. I’m done with you. You’re a thief, a cur–“

“Hold on,” cut in Garrison. He had risen slowly, and was dabbing
furtively at his nose