Some of us would hold two or more chickens back of a chalk line, and the starter'd blow the horn from a hundred yards to a mile away, dependin' on whether it was a sprint or for distance.

We had pools on the results, gave odds, made books, and kept records.

After the thing got knowed we made money hand over fist.
The stranger broke off abruptly and began to roll a cigarette.
"What did you quit it for, then ?" ventured Charley, out of the hushed silence.
"Pride," replied the stranger solemnly.

"Haughtiness of spirit." "How so ?" urged Charley, after a pause.
"Them chickens," continued the stranger, after a moment, "stood around listenin' to me a-braggin' of what superior fowls they was until they got all puffed up.

They wouldn't have nothin' whatever to do with the ordinary chickens we brought in for eatin' purposes, but stood around lookin' bored when there wasn't no sport doin'.