"C'mon, Dancah." Race whispered to himself, "C'mon, I gat a whole tree dallahs an yah."

Race was determined. He believed anything he heard about the horses at the Sheepshead Races. It had been this newest "hot tip" that he really believed. A horse called Dancer, a newbie to the track, was supposed to have won a really big race down south.

"C'mon yah damn horse." he thought, "I paid me tree dallahs bettin' on yah. Yah bettah win dis race."

Dancer came close to winning, but not close enough to get Race too much money. But he was happy anyway. This was a bigger win for him. He had actually got a bit of a good tip.

"Yes!" he heard someone (me) behind him yell. "Patches won, again."

So, Patches is the one to bet on next time. Thanks, anonymous better.
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"It was absolutely amazin', Jack." Race said, walking into the bunk room.

"Yeah yeah, Race, yah told all a us at least, what, five times taday." Jack said, "Ya got a pretty good tip. Nice fah ya."

"T'anks, Jack." Race said, "Oh, 'ey, Blink. I gat somethin' tah tell ya!"

Race was very excited about this new tip that he had gotten. The only friend he told the really good tips to was Kid Blink. They were, as far as best friends go in the newsie world, the best of friends.

"Blink." he said, finally getting Blink to sit down, "I hoid a great thing taday."

"What's dat, Race?" Blink asked.

"I hoid dis goil a few seats bahind me say dat Patches is da horse dats been winnin' da races lately." he said, "I'm bettin' on 'im next time. Whaddaya think?"

"If ya think ya gonna win, put a dallah in fah me." Blink said, "I'm pretty sure dis one's gonna pull tru fah ya."
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Race bet on Patches the next week and, lo and behold, Race's bet pulled through for him. He won.

"Yes!" the voice yelled, "Patches again!"

He turned to see a girl (me), about his age, dressed in newsie garb, holding her ticket looking very excited.

"Hey!" Race yelled, "C'mere!"

"Yeah?" I said, walking up to him, "Whaddaya want?"

"I hoid ya last week, yellin' about dis Patches." he said, "Bet on 'im meself."

"An', lemme guess, ya won?" I asked.

"Ya bettah bahlieve it." he said, puffing out his chest, "So, what's ya name?"

"Trackah," I said, "An' yaself?"

"Racetrack." he replied, "Racetrack Higgins. Where ya from?"

"I'm one a Spot's newsies." I said.

"Ya from Brooklyn?" he asked, in disbelief.

"Isn't dat what I just said?" I asked, "I think it was. Ya okay, Racetrack?"

He looked a bit dazed. "Yeah." he said, "I'se fine."

"Okay den." I said, still a bit worried about him, "I'll see ya around den?"

"Shoah." he said, "Ya wanna meet up at Tibby's sometime?"

"Shoah." I said, "Dat'd be great. How 'bout dis Friday?"

"'Bout 6 okay wid ya?" he asked.

"Shoah." I replied, "So, I'll see ya at Tibby's den."