"'You want to cheer up, Mr. Sanford,' I says. 'You win a nice bet on him.'

"He pulls the tickets out of his pocket 'n' looks at 'em. They call fur sixteen hundred bucks.

"'As Ah have told you once befoh, young man,' he says, a-lookin' at the tickets. 'Ah can not blame you greatly, because you are paht of yoh times. This is the excuse Ah find foh you in thinking Ah would value money moh than the spohtsmanship of a gentleman. Yoh times are bad, young man!' he says. 'They have succeeded in staining the puhple and white at the vehy end. Ah would neveh have raced afteh to-day. It was a whim of an old man to see his colohs once moh among a field of hawses. Ah knew Ah was not of this day. Ah should have known bettah than to become a paht of it even foh a little time. Ah have learned ma lesson,' he says, lookin' up at me. 'But you have made it vehy bittah.'

"He looks down at the tickets again fur a minute. . . Then he tears 'em across three ways 'n' drops 'em on the ground."



CLASS

"What do you like in the handicap?" I asked, looking up from the form sheet.

Blister reached for the paper.

"Indigo's the class," he said, after a glance at the entries. "If they run to form, he'll cop."

"There you go again—with your class!" I exclaimed. "You're always talking about class. What does class mean?"

"Long as you've been hangin' 'round the track 'n' not know what class means!" Blister looked at me pityingly. "There's no class to that," he added, with a grin.

"Seriously now," I urged. "Explain it to me. Class, as you call it, is beaten right along. Just the other day you said Exponent was the class and should have won, but he didn't."

"He has the most left at that," said Blister. "He wins in three more jumps. You can't beat class. It'll come back fur more."

"Molly S. beat him," I insisted.

"Yep, she beat him that one race," Blister admitted. "But how does she beat him? Do you notice the boy gets her away wingin' 'n' keeps her there all the trip? . . . Why? Because he knows she can't come from behind 'n' win. If the old hoss gets to her any place in the stretch she lays down to him sure. She ain't got the class 'n' he has. She can win a race now 'n' then when things break right fur her, but the Exponent hoss'll win anyway—on three legs if he has to. He's got the class."

"How can you get horses with class?" I inquired. "By breeding?"

"If you want it you lay down big coin fur it," Blister answered. "It follows blood lines some, but not all the time. I've seed awful dogs bred clear to the clouds. Then again it'll show in a weanlin'. I've seed sucklin' colts with class stickin' out all over 'em. Kids has it, too. It shows real young sometimes."

"How can a child show anything like that?" I remonstrated. "He has no opportunity. Class, as I understand it, is deep-seated—part of the very fiber. It takes a big situation to bring it out. Where did you ever see a child display this quality?"

"I've seed it many a time in little dirty-faced swipes," Blister stated. "I've seed exercise-boys so full of class they put the silks on 'em before they can bridle a hoss, 'n' they bawl like you've took away their apple when they lose their first race. You've heard of Hamilton?"

"I have been told he is the best sire in America," I replied, wondering where this question led.

"I won't say that," said Blister. "There's a lot of good hosses at stud in this land-of-the-free-when-you-pay-fur-it, but he's up there with the best of 'em. Did you know I owns him once myself?"

"Not the great Hamilton?" I protested.

"Yep, the great all-the-time, anyhow-'n'-any-place Hamilton," Blister assured me. "'N' speakin' of class in kids 'n' colts, lemme tell you about it." He reached for his "makin's" and I waited while he rolled a cigarette, this process being a necessary prelude to a journey into his past.

"The year Seattle Sam goes down 'n' out," the words came in a cloud of cigarette smoke, "I'm at Saratoga. This Seattle is one of the big plungers, his nod's good with the bookies fur anything he wants to lay, 'n' he sure bets 'em to the sky. He owns a grand string of hosses, 'n' when one of 'em's out to win, believe me, he carries the coin!"

"All the same they get him at last 'n' there ain't nothin' else talked about fur a couple of days when the word goes 'round that he's cleaned. The bunch acts like somebody's dead. They whisper when they tell it. It's got 'em dazed.

"In them days there's a little squirt called Micky that hangs around the track. He ain't got a regular job; he just picks up odd mounts on a work-out now 'n' then. He don't weigh eighty pounds, but he's fresher'n a bucket of paint. His right name's Vincent Mulligan, 'n' his mother's a widow woman. I learns that 'cause the old lady sends a truant officer out to the track after him one day, 'n' the cop puts me wise after Micky has clumb through a stall window, 'n' give him the slip.

"'Why, you big truck hoss,' says Micky to the bull as he skidoos through the window, 'you couldn't catch a cold at the north pole in yer dirty undershirt!'

"'Why don't you go to school like you'd ought, Vincent?' I says to Micky, when he shows up the next day.

"'Aw, you go to hell!' says Micky. 'Say, are you ever goin' to let me work one of yer dogs out in place of that smoke?' he says, pointin' at Snowball, my exercise-boy.

"'Who you callin' a smoke?' says Snowball, startin' fur Micky. 'I'll slap the ugly I'ish mouth off you!'

"Micky picks up a pitchfork.

"'Go awn, you black boob!' he says. 'If I reaches fer yer gizzard with this tickler, I gets it!'

"Snowball backs up. I grabs the fork from the little shrimp.

"'Now, you beat it!' I says to him.

"'Aw, you go to hell!' says Micky. He lays down on a bail of straw 'n' pulls his hat over his face. 'If any guy bothers me while I'm gettin' my rest,' he says, 'call a hearse. Don't wake me up till some guy wants a hoss worked out.'

"One day I goes to lay a piker's bet in Ike Rosenberg's book.

"'All across on Tantrum,' I says to Ike.

"'Hello, Blister,' says Ike, when he goes to hand me the ticket. 'I like that one myself. Go over 'n' lay me a hundred 'n' fifty the same way,—here's the change.'

"When I bring Ike his ticket he tells me to wait a minute, 'n' pretty soon he puts a sheet-writer on the block 'n' steps down.

"'Come over here,' he says, 'n' I trails him out of the bettin' shed. 'I've took a two-year-old for a thousand dollar marker of Seattle's,' says Ike, swingin' 'round on me. 'You want him?'

"'To train, you mean?' I says, 'Is that it?'

"'Sure,' says Ike. 'You can have him on shares if you want.'

"'Tell me about him,' I says.

"'Well,' says Ike, 'he's a big little hoss made good all over. He ain't never started yet, but he's been propped for two months. He's by Edgemont. First dam, Cora, by Musketeer. Second dam, Debutante, by Peddler. Third dam, Daisy Dean, by Salvation. Fourth dam, Iole, by Messenger. He's registered as Hamilton, 'n' that's all I know.'

"'That's sure some breedin',' I says. 'But I never takes a colt on shares. I'll handle him fur you as careful as I know how 'n' it'll cost you fifty a month. That's the best I can do.'

"'I'll send him over this evenin',' says Ike. 'Let me know what you think of him after he works out for you.'

"I like this Hamilton colt the minute I gets my lamps on him. He ain't over fifteen hands, but he's all hoss. He'll weigh right at nine hundred, 'n' that's quite a chunk of a two-year-old. He's got a fine little head on him 'n' his eye has the right look. A good game hoss'll look at you like a eagle. I don't want nothin' to do with a sheep-eyed pup. This colt has a eye like a game cock.

"Peewee Simpson is at my stalls when they brings the colt over, 'n' after we've sized him up I asks Peewee what he thinks of the little rooster.

"'Him?' says Peewee. 'He's a bear-cat. I'll bet he entertains you frequent 'n' at short notice. I don't figger him related to Mary's lamb, not any. You better keep your eye on little Hamilton. Hammy's likely to be a naughty boy any time.'

"Peewee's got the correct hunch—the first time Snowball takes him out Hamilton runs off 'n' the boy don't get him stopped till he romps five miles.

"'Can't you stop him sooner'n that?' I says to Snowball when he's back.

"Micky's at the stalls that mawnin', 'n' he butts in, as usual.

"'Stop him!' he says. 'That black boob couldn't stop a hoss in a box stall. Lemme me have him next work-out!'

"'I'll let you have a slap on the ear,' I says.

"'Aw, you go to hell!' says Micky.

"Next work-out day Hamilton pulls off the same stunt. He's feelin' extra good that mawnin', I guess, 'cause he makes a nine mile trip of it. Micky stands there with me, watchin' the colt go round 'n' round the track.

"'Why don't you can that choc'lit drop,' he says, ''n' put a white man up?'

"'Meanin' you?' I says. 'You'd holler fur your milk bottle before he goes a eighth with you.'

"'Aw, you go to hell!' says Micky.

"I borrows a curb 'n' chain from Eddy Murphy—he's been usin' it on ole Dandelion. It's fierce—you can bust a hoss's jaw with it. I puts it on Hamilton next work-out.

"'I guess that'll hold little Hammy,' I says, when Snowball's up. But it don't. The colt ain't any more'n felt the curb when he bolts into the fence 'n' chucks Snowball off. I starts to catch the hoss, but Micky gets to him first 'n' grabs him.

"'Lemme give him a whirl,' he says. 'Come on—be a sport fur a change!'

"Snowball rolls away from the colt 'n' picks hisself up.

"'He is shoh welcome to him,' he says. 'I got no moh use foh him.'

"I studies a minute, lookin' at Micky. He don't come much above Hamilton's knee. He's lookin' at me like a pup beggin' fur a bone.

"'Go to it, you ornery little shrimp!' I says at last. 'If a worse pair ever gets together I've never seed it!'

"Micky gives a yelp like a terrier.

"'Take off this bit 'n' put a straight bar on him,' he says.

"'Why, you couldn't hold one of his ears with a bar bit,' I says.

"'Who's ridin' this hoss?' says Micky. 'Go awn, get the bit!'

"'Get him what he wants,' I says to Snowball.

"We leads the colt on to the track, when the bits is changed, 'n' just as I throws Micky up I see he's got a bat.

"'What you goin' to do with that?' I says. 'You need a parachute, not a whip!'

"'I always ride 'em with a bat. Turn him loose,' says Micky.

"Well, it's the same thing over again, the colt runs off. All Micky does is to keep him in the track. I see he ain't pullin' a pound. They've gone about six mile 'n' Hamilton begins to slow a little. Just then Micky lights into him with the bat.

"'Look at dat!' says Snowball. 'He's los' his min'.'

"'No, he ain't!' I says. 'He's there forty ways!' I've just begun to tumble the kid's wise as owls. 'Oh, you Micky!' I hollers. 'Go to it, you white boy!'

"I hate to tell you how far that kid works the hoss. He keeps handin' him the bat every other jump. It gets so I can run as fast as they're movin' 'n' Hamilton's just prayin' fur help. I'm afraid he'll jim the colt fur good, so I yells at Micky to cut it out, when he comes by.

"'Come down off of that, you squirt!' I says. 'Do you want to kill the colt?'

"'Aw, you go to hell!' he says, 'n' 'round they go again. When Hamilton ain't got more'n a good stagger left, Micky rides him through the gate to the stall.

"'Now, pony,' he says to Hamilton, 'don't start nothin' you can't finish.'

"The trip kills a ordinary hoss, but they ain't nothin' ordinary about this Hamilton. I learns that then. We cools him out good 'n' in three days he's kickin' the roof off the stall.

"Come work-out day Micky goes up on Hamilton. Say, the colt eats out of his hand. Micky's got him buffaloed right. He gallops Hamilton a nice mile 'n' pulls up at the gate.

"'What do you want him to do now? Stand on his head?' he says. 'Times is dull.'

"'Shoot him three furlongs,' I says.

"'Shoot is the word,' says Micky.

"Hamilton romps the three furlongs in nothin' flat—I'm tickled sick.

"'He's a bear!' I says to Micky at the stalls. ''N' as fur you—you're on the pay-roll.'

"'Why, you're a live one, ain't you?' says Micky. 'Wait till I go chase the Smoke!' The next thing I see is Snowball goin' down the line like a quarter hoss, 'n' Micky's proddin' at him with a pitchfork.

"'He won't be back,' says Micky, when he's puttin' up the fork.

"'Now, look-a here,' I says, 'you got to cut this rough stuff, if you works fur me.'

"'Aw, you go to hell!' says Micky to me.

"Right then I gets him by the collar, 'n' takes a bat from the rack. I works on him till the bat's wore out 'n' then reaches fur another. Micky ain't opened his face. I wears that one out 'n' grabs another. Micky looks up at the rack—there's four more bats left.

"'Nix on number three!' he yells. 'I'm listenin' to you!'

"'All right,' I says, hangin' up the bat. 'Now, listen good. Cut out this rough stuff—you got me?'

"'I got you,' says Micky.

"I tells Ike he's got a good colt, but only one boy can ride him. Ike comes over to the stalls with me to see the boy 'n' Hamilton.

"'Not that kid?' he says, when he takes a slant at Micky. 'A hobby-hoss lets him out.'

"Micky goes straight up.

"'Why, you fat-headed Kike!' he says. 'The only thing you can tell me about a hoss is how much the nails cost to hold his shoes on.'

"Ike turns to me.

"'Don't never let that boy throw a leg over a hoss of mine again,' he says. 'Enter this colt in the two-year-old scramble Friday. I'll get Whitman to ride. I guess he'll hold him.'

"'Now, look at that!' I says to Micky when Ike's gone. 'You will shoot off your face, won't you? Ain't you never goin' to learn to keep that loud trap of yours closed?'

"'Aw, you go—' Micky stops there.

"I takes a step towards the whip rack.

"'Come on—' I says, 'let's hear from you!'

"'—to hell with the big Kike!' says Micky.

"'Does that let me in?' I says.

"Micky studies a minute lookin' at me 'n' the bats in the rack.

"'Naw—just the Kike,' he says at last.

"When Whitman's up on Hamilton, before they goes to the post, I tries to put him wise.

"'You're on a bad actor, Whitty,' I says. 'If you ain't on your toes, he runs off with you sure.' This Whitman's a star, 'n' nobody knows it better'n him.

"'What do you hire a jock fur?' he says. 'Why don't you train 'n' ride both?'

"'All right,' I says. 'I'm tellin' you now!'

"'If this hoss is ready,' says Whitman, 'you've earned your money—don't work overtime.'

"I goes through the paddock 'n' out on the lawn. Before I'm there I hears the crowd yellin'. When I can see the track, there's the field at the post all but Hamilton. He 'n' Whitty has made a race all to theirselves. It turns out to be a six mile ramble with only one entry.

"I goes to the stand 'n' scratches Hamilton while he's still runnin'. The field waits at the post till they get a clear track.

"'I didn't know this was a distance race,' I says to Whitty when he gets down. Whitty's sore as a crab, the bunch'll mention it to him the rest of the season.

"'You don't want a jock on this thing,' he says. 'A engineer is what he needs.'

"'Sell him,' is the first words Ike says to me when I sees him.

"'Sell him?' I says. 'You must be drunk! Why, he don't bring a ten case note. Everybody's hep he's a bolter. Now listen! This is a real good colt, 'n' I know it; but the bunch don't. That boy of mine can ride him. If you gives the colt another chance with my boy up, he shows 'em somethin'. Then you can get a price fur him.'

"'Do what you like with him,' says Ike. 'But I don't pay out another simoleon on him! I'm through right now!'

"'Give me half what he wins his next out 'n' I'll take a chance with him,' I says.

"'You're on,' says Ike. 'But you pay the entrance.'

"'Surest thing you know,' I says, 'n' goes over to the stalls.

"In two weeks there's to be a handicap fur two-year-olds. It's worth three thousand to the winner. It's the best baby race at the meetin'. Hamilton'll come in awful light 'n' he'll get five pounds apprentice allowance fur Micky; but it'll put a big crimp in my roll to pay the entrance. I studies over it some 'n' I gets cold feet. It takes three hundred bones to sit in. I've about decided it's too rich fur my blood, when next work-out day comes 'n' Hamilton works four furlongs, with Micky up, like a cyclone. That gets my circulation goin' 'n' I takes a shot at it.

"'Who's burning this up on the ten mile wonder?' says the sec. to me, when I'm payin' the entrance. 'The work seems a little coarse for my old friend Ike.'

"'I'm Smiling Faces this load of poles,' I says.

"'Why, Blister,' says the sec. 'I never thought it of you! But we're much obliged to you just the same.'

"There's eight starters in the handicap besides Hamilton. One of 'em's a big clumsy colt named Hellespont. The bunch calls him the Elephant, 'n' he's sour as lemons. I see his eyes a-rollin' in the paddock, 'n' I know he's hopped. Just as the parade starts he begins to cut the mustard. He rears 'n' tries to come down all spraddled out on the colt ahead of him in the line, but the jock runs him into a stall 'n' they take hold of him till the rest is out on the track.

"Micky ain't had no experience at the post. I've borrowed a pair of glasses 'n' I'm watchin' the get-a-way pretty anxious. Hamilton's actin' fine, but the Elephant is holdin' up the start. All of a sudden he rears clear up 'n' comes down across Hamilton. The colt does a flop 'n' I see the Elephant rear 'n' stamp him a couple a times before the assistant drives him off with the bull whip."



"'Good-by, three hundred!' I says to myself, I can't see good fur the dust, but they pulls Micky out from under the colt, 'n' when I gets another slant, Hamilton's on his feet 'n' the starter's talkin' at Micky. I can see Micky shakin' his head. It ain't long till they puts him up again.

"'That's the good game kid!' I says out loud. 'Oh, you 'Micky boy!' also out loud.

"They get off to a nice start. When they hit the stretch I throws my hat away. Hamilton's in front two lengths. A eighth from home I see there's somethin' wrong with Micky. He's got his bat 'n' lines in his left mitt. His right hook is kind-a floppin' at his side, but Hamilton's runnin' true 'n' strong. The colt looks awful good to the sixteenth 'n' then his gait goes clear to the bad. I see he's all shot to pieces behind, 'n' he's stoppin' fast. I'm standin' at the inner rail ten len'ths from the wire, 'n' the Elephant colt gets to Hamilton right in front of me.

"'I gotcha, jock!' yells the boy on the Elephant.

"'They don't pay off here,' says Micky, 'n' sticks the lines in his face. Then he goes to the bat with his south hook 'n' Hamilton lays back his ears 'n' runs true again. . . . He out-games the Elephant a nod at the wire 'n' I'm twelve hundred to the clear.

"When I gets to 'em, Micky's standin' in the track leanin' against Hamilton. The colt's shakin' all over 'n' his hind feet's in a big pool of blood. I gives a' look 'n' the left rear tendon is tore off from hock to fetlock.

"'Good God, look at that!' I says to Micky.

"Micky turns 'n' looks.

"'Aw, pony . . .' he says, 'n' busts out cryin'. He leans up against the colt again 'n' he's shakin' as bad as Hamilton.

"Just then the boy gets down from the Elephant.

"'I'd a beat that dog in another jump,' he says to Micky.

"'You?' says Micky. 'I'm goin' to kill you!' He starts fur the boy, but he turns kind-a greeny white 'n' does a flop on the track.

"When I goes to pick him up I see a bone comin' through the flesh just above the wrist on his right hook.

"We puts him in a blanket 'n' the swipes start to carry him off.

"'What's the matter with the kid?' says Ike comin' up.

"'Arm broke, I guess,' I says."

"Ike sees the blood 'n' walks behind Hamilton.

"'I wish it was his neck,' he says, pointin' at the tendon. 'That's what you get fur puttin' a pin-headed apprentice on a good hoss! Get him so he can hobble, 'n' sell him to a livery if you can. If not, have him shot.'

"Hamilton's standin' there a-shakin'. His eyes has the look you always sees in a hoss just after he's ruined.

"'What'll you take fur him?' I says to Ike.

"'Take fur him?' he says. 'Whatever he'll bring. I ain't out nothin' on him. I splits three thousand with you to the race.'

"'You owe me a hundred 'n' thirty fur trainin',' I says. 'I calls it off 'n' keeps the hoss.'

"'You've bought him,' says Ike, 'n' goes back to the bettin' shed.

"They take Micky to the hospital. The doc says his arm's broke 'n' he's hurt inside. He comes to before they puts him in the ambulance.

"'Why didn't you let another boy ride?' says the assistant starter, who's helpin' the doc.

"'Ride hell!' says Micky. 'He runs off with them other boobs.'

"Me 'n' Peewee Simpson gets Hamilton to the stall. It takes him just one hour to do that hundred yards, but I've got a tight bandage above the hock 'n' he don't bleed so bad.

"'Can you get him so he can walk?' I says to the vet. when he's looked at the colt.

"'Yes,' he says; 'but that'll be about all for him. I advise you to have him destroyed. What hoss is this?'

"'Hamilton,' I says. 'He just wins the colt race.'

"'So?' he says. 'I didn't see it. When did this happen?'

"'At the post,' I says. 'Another colt jumped on him.'

"'At the post?' he says. 'I thought you said he won?'

"'He did,' I says.

"'On that?' he says, pointin' to the leg. 'What you tryin' to do, kid me?'

"'I'm tellin' it to you just as she happens,' I says. 'It don't matter a damn to me whether you believe it or not!'

"'Why, you ain't kiddin', are you?' he says. 'Wait a minute—'

"He goes outside 'n' I see him talkin' to several.

"'It's straight,' he says, when he comes back. 'But it ain't possible!'

"'Who owns this colt?' he says, after he's looked at the leg some more.

"'I do,' I says. 'I just give a hundred 'n' thirty fur him.'

"'What did you ever buy him for?' he says.

"I studies a minute, a-lookin' at Hamilton.

"'I've got softenin' of the brain, I guess,' I says.

"'He's a nice made thing,' says the vet. 'How's he bred?'

"I tells him, 'n' he looks at the leg some more, 'n' then walks 'round the colt a couple a times.

"'I tell you what I'll do,' he says after while. 'I'll take him off your hands at just what you paid. I'm givin' it to you straight—this hoss wont never do more than walk. But he's bred out a sight 'n' I like his looks. There's a chance somebody could use him in the stud. I'm willin' to get him in some sort-a shape 'n' see if I can't make a piece of money on him. What do you say?"

"'Well,' I says, 'you're fixed better to get him in shape'n me. I just wanted to give the little hoss a show. If you'll give it to him, he's yours.'

"'Here's your money,' says the vet. 'I'll send my wagon for him to-morrow. Let me have a lantern till I get this leg so it won't hurt him so bad to-night.'

"The next day every paper I picks up has a great big write-up in it about Micky 'n' the colt. Until the wagon comes fur him there's a regular procession to the stall to look at Hamilton, 'n' when I goes to the hospital that night you can't see Micky fur flowers around his bed.

"'Hell!' says Micky. 'Do they think I'm a stiff?'

"'Sh-h-h!' says the sister that's nursin' him.

"I don't see Hamilton fur a month. One day I goes over to the big Eastern sale at New York, just to hear ole Pappy Danforth sell 'em. Pappy's stood on a block all his life. He knows every hoss-man in the country. When he tells you about a hoss, it's right; 'n' everybody takes his tip. He just about sells 'em where they ought to go.

"There's a fierce crowd at the sale 'n' some grand stuff goes under the hammer. Pappy kids the crowd along 'n' sells 'em so fast it makes you dizzy. They don't more'n lead a hoss out till he's gone.

"All of a sudden Pappy climbs clear up on the desk in front of him 'n' stands there a minute, pushin' back his long white hair.

"'Na-ow, boys!' he says. 'I'm goin' to sell you a three-legged hoss! An'—listen to the ole man—he's wuth more'n any four-legged hoss, livin' or dead!'

"I rubbers hard to get a look at a hoss Pappy boosts like that, 'n' I nearly croaks when they lead Hamilton into the ring. The colt's a dink, right. He's stiff as a poker behind, but he's still got that game-cock look to his eye.

"'Na-ow, boys!' sings out Pappy, 'there's the biggest little hoss ever you saw! Don't look at him—any of you fellahs that wants a yellah dawg to win a cheap race with! He ain't in that class. Step forwahd, you breeders, an' grasp a golden opportunity! Send the best brood mares you've got to this little hoss . . . he's a giant! You hear me—a giant! Ed Tumble, I'm talkin' to you! I'm talkin' to you, Bill Masters—an' Harry Scott there . . . an' Judge Dillon . . . an' all you big breeders! You've read what this little hoss done in the newspapers. You can see his breedin' in your catalogues. You can look him over as he stands there! But best of all—listen to the old man! when he tells you he never held a hammer over a better one in fifty years. Na-ow, boys! I'm goin' to sell him for the high dollah, an' the man who gets him at any price . . . you hear me—at any price! . . . is goin' to have the laugh on the rest of you fellahs! Aw-l-l right—what do I hear?'

"'Five hundred!' says some guy.

"'Why, Frank, five hundred won't buy a hair out of his tail . . . what do I hear?' says Pappy.

"'Two thousand!' yells somebody.

"'Na-ow listen, Tom, if you want the little hoss, cut out this triflin' an' bid for him,' says Pappy. 'What do I hear?'

"'Five thousand!' some guy hollers.

"'That's just a nice little start . . . what do I hear?' says Pappy, 'n' I goes into a trance.

"I don't come to till I hears Pappy sing out:

"'So-o-ld to you for sixteen thousand dollahs, Mr. Humphrey, an' you never bought a cheaper one!'

"It's a wonder I ain't run over gettin' to the depot. I don't know where I'm at. I just keeps sayin' 'sixteen thousand—sixteen thousand—' over 'n' over to myself. I beats it out to the hospital when I gets back, to tell Micky. They're goin' to let him out in a day or so 'n' Micky's settin' up in a chair with wheels to it.

"'Give a guess what Hamilton brings in the Big Eastern,' I says to him.

"'I dunno,' says he. 'How much?'

"'Sixteen thousand bucks!' I says. 'How does that lay on your stummick?'

"'Hell!' says Micky. 'That ain't nothin'—look-a-here!'

"He shoves a paper at me he's been holdin' in his mitt. It's a ridin' contract fur two years with the Ogden stable at ten thousand a year.

"So you see, just like I tells you," Blister wound up, "they lay down real money fur class."

"The man who bought the horse," I said, "certainly got what he paid for—everybody knows now that Hamilton has class. But how about the boy?"

"Did you ever see Vincent ride?" Blister looked at me inquiringly.

"I saw him ride once in the English Derby," I replied. "Why?"

"Well," said Blister, "his mother lives in New York in a brownstone house he bought her, with two Swede girls to do as much work as she'll let 'em. When he comes home, she calls him 'Micky.' Is there class to him?"

"Yes," I said, "there's class to him."



EXIT BUTSY

"What's all them rubes got ribbons on 'em fur?" asked Blister.

I followed his gaze to a group of variously garbed men and women who had just rounded the paddock, and who slowly bore down upon us as they drifted from stall to stall in a haphazard inspection of the great racing plant at Latonia. Prominent upon the person of each member of this party was a bountiful strip of yellow ribbon. The effect was decidedly gay.

I had encountered similar ribbons in every nook and cranny of the Queen City during the last few days, and I knew that each bore in thirty-six point Gothic condensed, the words, "Ohio State Grange."

"Those are Ohio farmers and their wives who are attending a convention in Cincinnati," I explained. "The ribbons are convention badges."

Blister allowed the saddle girth he was mending to lie unnoticed across his knees as the delegates by twos and threes straggled past.

Each female member of the party carried a round paper fan with a cane handle, and talked unceasingly. These streams of conversation were entirely regardless of one another. It was as though many brooks babbled onward side by side, but never joined. One fragment that reached us, I preserved.

"An' I sez to the doctor when he come, sez I, 'Doctor, I ain't held a bite on my stummick these three livelong days!'" This was delivered by a buxom dame, fanning vigorously the meanwhile, and was noteworthy since the lady was closely followed by a little man whose frailty suggested dissolution, and who bore a large lunch box under one arm and a heavy child upon the other.

The men appeared somewhat interested in the pampered nervous-looking thoroughbreds, but made few comments. As compared to their women folk they seemed more silent than the very tomb itself.

Long after the grangers had drifted out of our sight, Blister's thoughts seemed devoted to them. Several times he chuckled to himself.

"Every time I see a bunch of rubes," he said at last, "it puts me in mind of Butsy Trimble 'n' the new stalls at Lake Minnehaha Park."

"Lake Minnehaha Park," I repeated. "I never heard of such a place."

"It's up at Mount Clinton," Blister explained. "It's Ohio's beauty spot."

"Get out!" I scoffed.

"Fact!" said Blister. "It says so right over the gates."

"Tell me about it," I demanded.

"This ain't been so long ago," said Blister. "The meetin' here at Latonia is about over. Ole Whiskers has put the game on the fritz in New York, so everybody's studyin' where to ship when get-away day comes, 'n' the whole bunch is sore as bears—you can't get a pleasant word from nobody.

"All I got in my string is some two-year-olds of Judge Dillon's. They go back to the farm when the meetin' closes, so I ain't worried none—not about where to ship.

"One night me 'n' Peewee Simpson is playin' pitch on a bale of hay with a lantern. Butsy Trimble is settin' beside the bale readin' a hoss paper.

"'Gimme high, jack, game—' says Peewee, after a hand.

"'I'll give you a poke in the nose!' I says. 'What you got fur game?'

"'I s'pose you want to count fur game—don't you?' says Peewee. 'I'll give it to you sooner'n argue with you.'

"'You're right, you'll give it to me,' I says.

"'Well, I said I'd give it to you, didn't I?' says Peewee. 'You'd rather argue'n eat, wouldn't you?'

"'All that's wrong with you,' I says, 'is you're sore 'cause you can't hog game!'

"Peewee lays down his cards.

"'Now, look a here, you freckle-faced shrimp!' he says. 'Get off this bale of hay—it'll poison a hoss if you set on it much longer!'

"'Whose bale of hay do you think this is?' I says. 'You tryin' to hog it like you does game?'

"'Gimme my lantern 'n' I'll be on my way,' says Peewee.

"'I puts the oil in that lantern,' I says, ''n' she sets right where she is till she makes her last flicker.'

"'Cut it! Cut it!' says Butsy, spreadin' out his hoss paper. 'Act like you has some sense, 'n' I puts you hep to a hot scheme I gets out of this paper—us three can pull it off to a finish!'

"'I don't want in on no scheme with that lantern snatcher!' says Peewee then to me.

"'If you don't age some,' I says to Peewee, 'nursie'll come around here, 'n' put a nice fresh panty-waist on you!'

"Then Butsy goes ahead 'n' tells us the frame-up. He shows us an ad in his paper askin' fur entries to race over the Ohio Short Ship Circuit. This circuit is a bunch of race meets that's held on the bull rings at county fairs up through the state. They're trottin' races mostly, but they give one runnin' race at a different town each week.

"'Now,' says Butsy, 'I'm born 'n' raised in Mount Clinton, Ohio. I sees the race meet there frequent 'n' she's a peach. You can have a hoss lay down 'n' go to sleep on the track if you don't want him to win 'n' then tell the judges he's got spring fever. Everything goes except murder. We'll take that black stud of mine 'n' Peewee's bay geldin' 'n' hit this punkin circuit. We can win a purse each week fur travelin' expenses, 'n' what we cops on the side is velvet.'

"'What do you want me fur?' I says.

"'Why,' says Butsy, 'at these county fairs there ain't no bookies. They just bets from hand to hand. While me 'n' Peewee rides, you sashay out among the rubes 'n' get the coin down on whichever hoss we frames to win.'

"We sets there 'n' talks over the proposition most all night. Butsy says it's a cinch 'n' it ain't long till me 'n' Peewee figgers he's got it doped right.

"'Let's go against it, Blister,' Peewee says to me. 'What do you say, old pal?'

"'I'm there with bells on,' I says, 'n' that settles it. I ships my colts to Judge Dillon, 'n' the next week we start.

"These punkin races is all half-mile dashes, best two out of three. Peewee's geldin' is a distance hoss—he don't get goin' good under a mile. In a bull-ring sprint he ain't got a chance with this black stud of Butsy's.

"Our game is to have Butsy turn his dash-hound loose the first heat. Then I ambulates out among the rubes 'n' acts like I'm willing to bet on the bay geldin'. If I finds a live one, Butsy takes his hoss up in his lap the last two trips 'n' Peewee comes on 'n' grabs the gravy.

"We figger the rubes'll eat it up after seein' that nice-lookin' black stud romp away with the first heat. But right there the dope falls down—the rubes ain't as dead as they look.

"In the first town we strike I eases up to a tall Jasper after the black hoss has grabbed the opener on the bit.

"'Say, pardner,' I says, 'do you ever bet a piece of money on a race?'

"This Jasper is just a Adam's apple surrounded by arms 'n' legs.

"'Well, I should say as much,' he says. 'But most ginrally they wan't nobody bet with me. Up in Liberty Township the boys call me Lucky Andy.'

"'It's a crime to do this!' I says to myself. 'I'll make a little bet with you, pardner,' I says out loud. 'Not much though—you're too lucky!'

"'How was ye calkewlatin' to bet?' says the Jasper.

"'This black hoss acted kind-a tired to me,' I says. 'I'll just bet you twenty bucks he don't win the race.'

"'You look like a smart little cuss,' he says. 'What's good enough fer you is good enough fer me.' He beats it over to where another rube is settin' in a buggy. 'Hi, Bill!' says my Jasper, 'I'll just bet ye fifty cents the black hawse dun't win the race—even if I do lose!'

"That's the way it goes right along—the rubes stay away from it. Once in a while I finds a mark but not often. We win a purse though in every town 'n' this just about pays expenses. We ain't makin' nothin' much, but we ain't losin' nothin' neither. We're eatin' regular 'n' enjoyin' ourselves, except Butsy. He wouldn't enjoy hisself at a dog fight.

"This Butsy Trimble is a thin solemn gink 'n' he almost never cracks a smile. He's got it doped out that everybody's agin him. Peewee 'n' me has knocked around together so much we knows each other's ways, but we ain't never had much to do with this Butsy, so we ain't wise to him at first.

"It ain't long till Butsy begins to figger we're tryin' to hand it to him. He gets sour-balled about everythin' we does. We try to kid him, but he ain't hep to a kid 'n' he don't stand fur it like he'd ought. His favorite stunt is to say he'll take his hoss 'n' quit. He springs this right along.

"From the start this trip gets to Peewee's funny bone. He don't do nothin' but laugh. Butsy don't see nothin' funny about it, 'n' he gets to thinkin' Peewee's laughin' at him.

"Peewee'll lay in the stall at night 'n' laugh 'n' laugh. Pretty soon he'll get me goin', 'n' then we'll lay 'n' snort fur a hour. Butsy can't go to sleep 'n' he gets wild.

"'What th' hell are you laughin' at?' he says. 'If you don't cut this out 'n' let me get my rest I'll quit the game tomorrow!'

"It gets so I don't dare look at Peewee fur fear we'll get started 'n' Butsy'll quit.

"At a burg called Mansfield I finds a good bunch of live ones 'n' we grabs off three hundred life-savers. It seems to help Butsy a lot—he acts more cheerful right away.

"'Cherries are ripe,' he says. 'Our next town's Mount Clinton. I know every boob in it. We'll sift some change out of them Knox County plow-pushers.'

"We ships over the B. & O. to Mount Clinton. It's rainin' when we unloads, 'n' Butsy ain't as cheerful as he was.

"'How far is it to the track?' Peewee says to him.

"'About three miles 'n' all hills,' says Butsy.

"'How do you get out?' says Peewee.

"'We could take the street-car if it wasn't fur the hosses,' says Butsy. 'As it is we'll have to hoof it through the mud.'

"'Look-a here,' I says to Butsy, 'there's no sense in three of us gettin' wet. You know the way 'n' we don't. You take the hosses 'n' we'll come out on the street-car.'

"'I thought it 'ud be like that,' says Butsy. 'You two always pick out the soft stuff fur yourselves 'n' hand me the lemons. I guess I'll just put my hoss back in the freight car 'n' be on my way.'

"'Now, Butsy,' I says, 'have some sense! We ain't slippin' you nothin'. I'd take the dogs 'n' leave you 'n' Peewee ride if I knew the way. What do you want to make a crack about quittin' fur just as the game's gettin' good?' I says. 'We cops a neat little bundle at our last stop, 'n' we'll grab a nice piece of change here. I feel it in my bones.'

"'All right,' says Butsy. 'I'll be the goat just once more—but take it from me this is the last time!'

"'Send a wagon fur the trunk when you get up-town,' I says to Butsy when he's goin'.

"'Furget it!' he says. 'Put her on the street-car. The car runs right into Minnehaha Park 'n' you can unload her in front of the stalls.'

"'You can't take a trunk on a street-car,' I says.

"'Wait till you see this street-car,' says Butsy.

"'Ain't they but one?' says Peewee.

"'That's all,' says Butsy. 'Orphy Shanner runs it.'

"Me and Peewee stands a-waitin' fur the street-car fur thirty minutes, then I goes into the freight depot office.

"'Is the street-car runnin'?' I says to the old gazink at the desk.

"'Ye can't rightly call it runnin',' he says. 'It ain't been settled yet. Some claims she dun't, some claims she do. Them that claims she dun't is those who've rid on her.'

"'Well, whatever she does,' I says, 'will she get here this mawnin'? I got to get to the race track.'

"'I'll call up Orphy an' see,' says the old gazink. 'Hello, Tessie,' he says, after he grinds away at the telephone handle fur a while. 'Git a-holt of Orphy Shanner fer me out to th' park—that's a good girl.' In about ten minutes somebody begins to talk over the phone. 'Say, Orphy, this is Ed at the B. & O. Freight,' says the old gazink. 'I got a passenger down here fer ye.' Then he listens at the phone. 'I don't know who he is. He's a stranger tu me,' he says, 'n' listens some more. 'All right, I'll tell him,' he says, 'n' hangs up the phone.

"'Orphy says fer me to tell ye thet he's comin' in to get Mrs. Boone at the Public Square at eleven o'clock,' he says to me. 'He's goin' to take her out High Street to a whisk party at Mrs. Pucker's, an' he'll come down here an' git ye then.'

"'Why, it ain't ten o'clock yet,' I says.

"'Well, you kin set in here out of the rain an' wait,' he says.

"I thinks we better walk 'n' then I remembers that cussed trunk.

"'Much obliged,' I says. 'I'll go out 'n' get my friend.'

"'Be they two of ye?' says he. 'Jeerusalem, I told Orphy they wa'n't but one.'

"When I gets back with Peewee, the old gazink pushes a couple of chairs at us.

"'Set right down, boys,' he says, ''n' make yourselves mis'able.' Then he puts a chew in his face that would choke a he-elephant 'n' begins to ask us questions. The only thing he don't ask us he don't think of. He'll stop right in the middle of a word 'n' say, 'pit-too-ee,' 'n' hit a flat box full of sawdust dead center. I don't see him miss once.'

"After he's got us pumped dry he begins to tell us what he knows, 'n' believe me he's got a directory beat to a custard. He hands us some info about everybody who's alive in Mount Clinton 'n' then starts in on the cemetery. He works back till he's talkin' about some 'dead an' gone these twenty year,' as he says.

"I happens to look at Peewee—Peewee's in a trance. He can't look away. He's noddin' his head 'n' his eyes has got a glassy stare. I goes outside quick 'n' lays up against the side of the buildin'.

"When I get back the old gazink is still workin' on Peewee, but all of a sudden he stops 'n' listens.

"'Pit-too-ee—there's your car, boys!' he says, 'n' then I begins to hear a groanin' sound.

"Man! they ain't no way to tell you about that street-car! She falls to pieces only they wraps all the upper parts together with wire till she looks like a birdcage. A big freckled guy with red hair is runnin' her 'n' I know just by lookin' at him it's Orphy.

"'Howdy, boys,' he says to us when he gets to where we're standin'. 'Jump aboard! I'm goin' down far as the pumpin' station an' the brakes ain't workin' just like they'd ought-a this mornin'.'

"'We've got a trunk,' I says.

"'Oh!' he says, 'n' spins the whirligig. She keeps right on goin'. Then he runs back 'n' yanks the trolley off, 'n' she begins to slow down. 'Git your trunk an' fetch it to where I stop at!' he hollers. 'The cut-off ain't workin' just like it ought-a this mornin'.'

"We lugs the trunk down to the car 'n' puts her on the back platform.

"'That's the way things goes!' says Orphy. 'I hadn't figgered on no trunk. Ed never tells me nothin' about it. You better set on it,' he says. 'The seats ain't just in first-class shape this mornin'.' I looks inside at the seats, 'n' he's got it doped right—some chickens has spent the night on 'em.

"After we gets to goin' Orphy pokes his head in the door.

"'The company don't allow me to handle the money,' he says. 'But my friends most gen'ally drop the fare down the right-hand side of the slot.'

"Me 'n' Peewee goes forward 'n' looks at the money box. The front of the car has warped till there's a big crack in the right-hand side of the box you can see the platform through. I drops two nickels in on that side, 'n' bing! they go down the shoot 'n' out the crack. They falls on the platform 'n' Orphy picks 'em up 'n' goes south with 'em.

"'That's what I call a live guy!' says Peewee. 'I'm proud to know him.'

"Pretty soon Orphy comes back 'n' jerks the trolley off 'n' we stop on a big square with a monument in the middle.

"'We got to wait here at the Public Square fer Mrs. Boone,' he says.

"In about twenty minutes here comes a dame across the Square. She's sixteen hands high 'n' will girt according. She belongs in the heavy-draft class 'n' she's puffin' some.

"'How-dee-do, Orphy,' she says. 'I'm a mite late, but I didn't get shet of my peach butter as quick as I aimed to.'

"'That's all right, Missus Boone,' says Orphy. 'The company allows me a liberal schedool. Set right down on the trunk, Missus Boone. I wouldn't resk the seats this mornin' if I was you.'

"'What's wrong with 'em?' says Mrs. Boone, 'n' pokes her head in the door. 'Land a Liberty!' she says. 'I shall certainly write to the Banner about this! I call it disgraceful!' Then she sets down on the trunk.

"I'm standin' up, but Peewee's still on it. She covers the whole trunk, but a little corner, 'n' Peewee tries to set on that.

"'Why don't you give the lady some room?' I says to Peewee, 'n' he gets up 'n' leaves her have the trunk.

"'You're a real polite young man,' says Mrs. Boone to me.

"We ain't more'n got started when the dame lets out a holler.

"'Orphy!' she yells, 'Stop! Wait a minute! Whoa!' Orphy comes 'n' yanks off the trolley.

"'I declare to goodness!' says Mrs. Boone. 'I've furgot my rubbers. Run up and get them for me, Orphy—they're behind the door in the front hall.'

"'I'd like to oblige you real well, Mrs. Boone,' says Orphy, 'but the company don't allow me to leave the car when I'm on duty—'

"'Well, I call lookin' after your customers bein' on duty,' says Mrs. Boone. 'Now, you skip an' get my rubbers, Orphy Shanner!'

"Orphy beats it fur the rubbers.

"While he's gone Mrs. Boone goes 'n' drops a nickel down the chute, but she don't put it in the right side 'n' it trickles down into the box. When Orphy gets the car started after he's back, he turns 'round 'n' gives a sad look at the nickel in the box.

"'Stung!' says Peewee, 'n' I think he's goin' to fall off the car.

"'What ails that young man?' says Mrs. Boone to me. 'He seems to be havin' a spell.'

"'It ain't nothin',' I says. 'He'll be all right in a minute.'

"We lets Mrs. Boone off after while 'n' keeps on goin' fur a mile or so till we come to some gates. In gold letters over the gates is 'Ohio's Beauty Spot,' 'n' below that in bigger letters yet is 'Lake Minnehaha Park.' We goes through these gates 'n' there's the track. More'n half the center-field is took up by a baseball diamond. In the other half is a pond with a shoot-the-chutes runnin' down into it.

"'Where's the lake?' Peewee says to Orphy.

"'Right in front of your nose,' says Orphy, pointin' at the pond.

"'She's some body of water,' says Peewee. 'If you ain't careful a big rough guy'll come along here with a tin cup some dark night 'n' go south with her.'

"'I guess not,' says Orphy. 'She's four feet deep—in spots.'

"When we come in sight of the stalls, there's Butsy standin' in the rain with the hosses. A big bunch of Jaspers is holdin' a meetin' out in front of a row of bran'-new stalls that's just been put up. There's a hot argument goin' on 'n' they don't pay no attention to the rain.

"'You gone dippy?' I says to Butsy. 'What are you standin' out in the rain with the dogs fur? Why don't you put 'em up?'

"'No chance,' says Butsy. 'All the stalls is took except these new ones, 'n' the guy who furnished the lumber fur 'em won't unlock 'em till he's paid.'

"I looks at the stalls—there's a great big padlock on each door.

"'Why don't they slip him the coin?' I says.

"'You can search me,' says Butsy. 'That's what they're chewin' the rag about now.'

"Me 'n' Peewee slides over to where the crowd is.

"'I'll have the law on ye sure!' a old Jasper is sayin'. He's got on a long-tailed coat 'n' a white string tie.

"'Edge right in!' whispers Peewee to me. 'It ain't goin' to cost you a cent!'

"'You ain't got no right to lock them stalls, Jim Burns!' says the old Jasper. 'They belong to the Knox County Agricultural Society!'

"'Not till I'm paid fer the lumber, they don't!' says the guy he calls Jim Burns. 'Gimme eighty-six dollars, Kurnel, if you want to use them stalls.'

"'I'll have the law on ye sure as my name's Hunter!' says the old Jasper.

"'I guess you won't,' says Burns. 'My lawyer tells me to lock them stalls.'

"'Who's your lawyer?' says the old Jasper.

"Harry Evans," says Burns.

"'Well, why ain't he here?' says the old Jasper.

"'That's right—he'd ought to be here!' says several in the crowd.

"'I told him to come two hours ago,' says Burns. 'Say, Orphy! Telephone in an' find out why Harry ain't here!'

"Orphy climbs off the car 'n' goes in a shed 'n' we hears the telephone bell jingle. Pretty soon he comes back.

"'Missus Evans says Harry's fixin' a clock,' says Orphy. 'He's purty nigh through, an' he aims to git out here soon as she'll strike right. He's comin' in his autymobile.'

"The crowd gives a groan. Burns throws up his hands.

"'He'd a damn sight better walk,' he says.

"The argument sort-a dies down while they're waitin' fur this Harry Evans.

"'Come on!' Peewee says to me. 'I got to tell Butsy the good news.'

"I see the rain tricklin' off Butsy's nose when we get close to him.

"'Stay with it, Butsy!' says Peewee. 'They got a lawyer comin' in a auto—'

"'Come 'n' hold these dogs fur a while!' says Butsy.

"'I'd like to,' says Peewee, 'but I can't. I might miss somethin',' 'n' he goes back to where the crowd is.

"We waits fur about a hour.

"'Why don't ye git a lawyer that ain't got no autymobile?' says somebody to Burns.

"'They've all got 'em,' says Burns. 'I'll give ye a dollar fer every lawyer in Mount Clinton ye can name who ain't got one of the blame things!'

"'How about Sam Koons?' says somebody.

"'Got one just the other day,' says Burns. 'It's made up to Bucyrus. It's called the Speeding Queen. He give three hundred and twenty dollars cash fer it.'

"Not long after that I begins to notice a noise. It ain't like any other sound I ever hears before. It gets right into my system. It's gettin' closer 'n' pretty soon I think I'll go find a nail 'n' bite on it.

"'What's that?' says Peewee.

"'It's him,' says Burns. 'It's Harry. If he don't have no bad luck he'll be here in twenty minutes. He ain't over a half a mile away right now.'

"'I hope they ain't no children on the road,' says Peewee.

"I figgers this Harry Evans is sure ridin' a threshin'-machine with its insides loose, but when he comes through the gates I gets a shock. Say,—his machine ain't much bigger'n a good-sized sardine can! It's painted red 'n' smoke's comin' out of the front of it. I can roll faster'n it's movin', but it keeps a-shakin' so he can't hardly set in the seat.

"When it's pretty close I see he's a little guy with specs 'n' a yellow coat on, but he's bein' shook so I can't hardly see what he does look like.

"'How-dee-do!' he says, when he gets her stopped. 'Er,—it occurs to me that I may be a little late. . . . Will any of you gentlemen indulge in a Cuban Beauty?' He fishes some long black stogies out of his pocket, but they don't nobody go against 'em, except him—he lights one.

"Then the crowd shows him the locked stalls 'n' everybody takes a shot at tellin' him what ought to be did.

"'Er,—it occurs to me,' says this Harry Evans, 'that there is a simple way out of the—er—difficulty.'

"'There's class to him,' says Peewee.

"'How's that?' says some one in the crowd.

"'If Colonel Hunter here will tender me—er—eighty-six dollars in behalf of my client,' says Harry Evans, 'I'll instruct my client to unlock the stalls.'

"'There you are!' says Peewee.

"The big Jasper lets out a fierce roar.

"'Not by a damn sight!' says he. 'We leased these grounds with the full use an' privilege of all buildin's an' other fixtures an' appurtenances fur the purpose of holdin' a fair. We weren't aimin' to get skinned out of eighty-six dollars by no lumber concern, 'n' we ain't a-goin' to neither!'

"'Let's see your lease?' says Harry Evans.

"'It's back in town at my office,' says the old Jasper.

"'Who signed it?' says Harry Evans.

"'Judge Tate signed it,' says the old Jasper.

"'Er,—if that's the case,' says Harry Evans, 'get him out here. He's receiver for the Park Company and you can make him pay this claim.'

"The whole bunch says that's a good idea. So they tell Orphy to go in 'n' get this Judge Tate.

"'I got to go 'n' tell Butsy there's a judge comin'!' says Peewee.

"'Butsy's sore about somethin',' he says when he gets back.

"This Judge Tate unloads hisself from the car when Orphy brings him, like he's the most important piece of work fur miles around. He has little side-whiskers 'n' a bay-window with a big gold chain stretched across it. He holds a umbrella over hisself with one hand 'n' wiggles the watch-chain with the other.

"'Ahem—gentlemen, what can I do for you?' he says.

"'Something doing now!' says Peewee to me. 'This is God-a'mighty's right-hand man!'

"'Er—Judge,' says Harry Evans, 'we are having a dispute concerning certain buildings on these premises, and—er—it occurred to me you could settle the matter.'

"'Settle is the word,' says Peewee to me.

"'As receiver for the Park Company, Judge,' says Harry Evans, 'can you tell us—er—who the buildings on these premises belong to?'

"'Why—ahem—' says the judge, 'it is my understanding that all the buildings of every sort and description belong to the Park Company, irrespective of any improvements that the—ahem—lessees may see fit to make.'

"'Now yer talkin',' says Burns. 'Just hand me eighty-six dollars due fer lumber on them new stalls—you claim to own em.

"'A-he-m!' says the judge. 'That's a different matter. The Agricultural Society is responsible for those stalls. The man you should see about your claim is Alf Dingle. I happen to know there is a certain sum of money in the treasury and I kind of think Alf will pay this claim. Why don't you try to get him to come out here?'

"They argue a while 'n' then it's thought best to send fur Alf Dingle. But Orphy has took the street-car 'n' went.

"'That's the way it goes,' says the old Jasper they call colonel. 'He's a-chasin' around town with that car instead of stayin' here tendin' to his business!'

"'I'll go in and get Alf,' says Harry Evans, startin' fur his machine.

"Nobody says nothin'.

"'I ain't got the heart to tell Butsy,' says Peewee.

"Harry Evans begins to turn the handle on his machine. He turns it fur ten minutes. When he's all in, he straightens up.

"'Somebody'll have to help me crank her,' he says.

"The crowd goes to work. They all take turns. But she don't start.

"'Er—it occurs to me there may be something wrong with her,' says Harry Evans, 'n' starts to lift off the cover where the machinery is. Peewee gives me a poke in the ribs.

"'I expect he's right,' he says.

"'I'm gettin' all-fired tired of this putterin' around,' says the old Jasper. 'Tom', he says to a guy in overalls, 'get a crowbar an' knock them padlocks off.'

"'If you do that I'll put ye in jail!' yells Burns. 'That's a criminal act! It's destruction of property with burglarious intent! Ain't it, Harry?'

"Harry comes up out of the machinery. There's grease even on his specs.

"'It's the carbureter,' he says.

"'I'll leave it to the judge!' hollers Burns. 'Ain't that a criminal act?'

"'A—hem!' says the judge, 'I am not prepared to say you have the right to those stalls, but I wouldn't advise breaking a lock. As you say, it's a criminal act.'

"Just then here comes Orphy rollin' through the gates.

"'You hustle in an' git Alf Dingle!' says the old Jasper to him. 'An' when you git back, you stay here where you're needed!'

"The crowd has moved 'round back of the stalls to watch Harry Evans work on his machine. I stands with 'em fur a while, but Peewee has left. All of a sudden I see him poke his head 'round the end of the new stalls 'n' give me the high sign.

"'What you standin' out in the rain fur?' he says, when I gets near him.

"'What else can I do?' I says.

"'Come on 'n' I'll show you,' says Peewee.

"He leads me round in front of the stalls. In two of 'em is the hosses all bedded down nice. Butsy is settin' in the stall with his stud. He makes a puddle wherever he sets.

"'How did you get 'em open?' I says.

"'They ain't locked,' says Peewee. 'None of 'em are. The padlocks is closed, but not locked.'

"No,' I says.

"'It's the truth!' says Peewee, 'n' we rolls in the straw a-holdin' to each other till I feel like I'd been stepped on by a draft hoss.

"Butsy gets up.

"'Just one more snicker out of either of you,' he says, ''n' I lead my hoss to the depot!'

"I see he means it 'n' I gets my head down in the straw 'n' holds my breath. Butsy stands there a-lookin' at us.

"'Has Alf come yet?' says Peewee, but he don't look at me.

"'Not yet, but he's expected,' I says, 'n' Peewee sticks his head down in the straw 'n' makes a noise like Harry Evans' machine. I does the same.

"As soon as I can see again, there's Butsy leadin' his hoss fur the gate.

"'Now you've done it,' I says to Peewee.

"Peewee sets up 'n' takes a look.

"'Hi, Butsy!' he yells, 'come on back here! We weren't laughin' at you!'

"But Butsy keeps right on a-goin'."



THE BIG TRAIN

The moon had acted as a stimulant to my thoughts, and the contented munching sound as the "string" of horses consumed their hay was not sedative enough to calm my utter wide-awake-ness.

"Why have you put bars across the door of that stall?" I asked Blister Jones, trying to rouse him from his placid mood. He pulled a straw from the bale upon which we sat, before replying.

"The Big Train's in there," he said quietly.

"No; is that a fact?" I cried, as I jumped to my feet and walked to the door across which were the heavy wooden bars that had attracted my attention. Peering through these I could see nothing, nor was there any sound toward which I might have strained my eyes.

"I guess he's not at home," I said. "I can't see him."

"Stick around that door 'n' you'll see him all right!" Blister assured me. Scarcely had he finished when the straw rustled and a huge head shot forward into the planes of moonlight that slanted between the bars into the black mystery of the stall.

Never had I seen anything so malevolent as this head. Its eyes were green flame, holding the hate of hell in their depths. The mouth was open, and the great white teeth closed with a snap on one of the bars and shook it in its socket.

So this was the noted man-killer, nicknamed because of his size and his astonishing ability to carry weight—The Big Train! His fame had been borne by leaded column beyond the racing, and to the more general public; for on several occasions he had succeeded in furnishing the yellow newspapers with gory copy.

He had begun his career as a man-killer in his three-year-old form. An unscrupulous owner had directed the jockey to carry an electric battery during an important race. Under the current The Big Train had run like a wild thing, and despite a staggering load placed on him by the handicapper, had won by many lengths.

After the race the stallion had reached back, and getting the jockey's leg between his teeth, had torn him from the saddle. Then before a screaming, horror-stricken grand-stand he had stamped the boy into a red waste.

This was his first and last public atrocity. He had killed men since, but always when they were alone with him. No one had seen him at his murders. He would have been destroyed when his racing days were over, but he possessed the ability to transmit a large measure of his stamina and speed to his offspring, and was greatly in demand as a sire.

I stood before The Big Train's stall, fascinated by his wicked attempts to get at me until Blister's attention was attracted by the thud of the stallion's hoofs against the lower door.

"Come on back here 'n' set down 'n' let that hoss get his rest,' he ordered. I obeyed.

"Why on earth did you take him?" I asked, when once more seated on the bale of straw.

"Well, ole Prindle says he'd give fifty bucks a week to the guy who'll handle him 'n' I needs the money . . . fur certain reasons."

"Fur certain reasons" was added diffidently, I thought. This was an altogether new quality in Blister. And I remembered the pretty, spoiled-looking, young girl I had seen with him quite often of late. She was rosy, pouty, slim, enticing and thoroughly aware of how desirable she appeared. Blister had told me she was his landlady's daughter, and I knew she lived but a block from the race track. I thought of the head I had seen, and felt certain that fifty thousand a week would not tempt me into an intimate relationship with its owner.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am you've taken him—it's a fearful risk," I said.

"Get out!" said Blister. "He won't even muss my hair. I never go in to him alone 'n' he don't like company fur his little stunts. He's a regular family hoss in a crowd."

Two stable-boys now climbed the track fence and came toward us rather hastily.

"Been on a vacation?" was Blister's greeting to them.

"Playin' seven-up 'n' tried to finish the game," one of them explained as they started with buckets for the pump.

"That's good. It don't matter whether these hosses get watered, just so you swipes enjoy yourselves," Blister commented.

I watched languidly while the buckets were filled and brought to the horses, until this process reached the barred stall. Then I became interested. One of the boys approached the stall with a bucket in one hand and a pitchfork held near the pronged end in the other. He swung open the lower door and whacked the fork handle back and forth inside, yelling harsh commands in the meantime. He succeeded in getting the bucket where the horse could drink, but the pitchfork was seized and twisted and the boy had difficulty in wrenching it away. It was all he could do to regain possession of it.

"Little pink toes is feelin' like his ole sweet self again," said Blister. "I been worried about him—he's seemed so pie-faced here lately."

"Don't worry none about him," said the boy who had watered The Big Train. "Mama's lamb ain't forgot his cute ways." Then he addressed the other boy. "Say, Chic, you snored somethin' fierce last night! Why don't you sleep in here with Bright Eyes, so's not to disturb me?"

"Would, only I might thrash around in my sleep 'n' hurt him," promptly replied the other boy.

Two figures had come from the street, through the gate and strolled down the line of stalls. One of them was feminine, and in white, and as they drew nearer, "Good evening, Mister Jones," floated to us in an assured though girlish voice.

It was the landlady's daughter, attended by a cavalier in the person of a stolid young man of German extraction, as I thought at first glance, and this was confirmed by Blister's, "Let me make you acquainted with Miss Malloy," and "Shake hands with Mister Shultz."

Then began the by no means unskilful playing of one lover against the other. She sat, a queen—the bale of straw a throne—and dispensed royal favors impartially; a dimple melting to a smile, a frown changed by feminine magic into a delicious pout.

In the moonlight she was exceedingly lovely. She seemed unapproachable, elusive, mysterious, and yet her art touched the material. She contrived to bring out how successful Mister Shultz was in the bakery business, and in the next breath told nonchalantly of the vast sums acquired by a race-horse trainer.

She appealed to Blister to corroborate this.

"Isn't that so, Mister Jones? Didn't you tell me you get fifty dollars a week for training one horse?"

Blister was not above impressing his rival, it seemed. He nodded to this deceptive question. And since he had nine horses in his "string," the worthy German's eyes bulged.

At last I rose to go and our little circle broke up. The girl, with a coquettish good night to me, moved away from us and stood with her back to the stalls, her face lifted to the moon.

"Good night, ole Four Eyes!" said Blister, and gave my hand a friendly pressure, just as a rattling sound attracted my eyes to the barred stall.

The lower door was swinging open. A powerful neck had tossed the bars from their sockets. This was the rattle I had heard, as Death came out of that stall, huge and terrible, to rear above the unconscious white figure in the moonlight.

My look of horror swung Blister about. I saw him dive headlong, and the white figure was knocked to safety as the man-killer's forefeet struck Blister down.

The rest was a dream . . . I found myself beating with futile fists the giant body that rose and fell as it stamped upon that other body beneath. I knew, but dimly, that the night was pierced by shriek on shriek. And still I felt the rise and fall of the beast. How long it lasted I do not know. . . . . . .

A helmeted figure swept me aside, I saw a gleam in the moonlight—a flash, and felt that a shot was fired, although I can not remember hearing it. The Big Train ceased to rise and fall. He swayed, staggered and crumpled to the ground.

"An ambulance—quick!" I said to the heaven-sent policeman; and saw him start for the gate on a lumbering trot. Then I stooped to the figure, lying with its head in what the moonlight had changed to a pool of ink.

Suddenly I felt a woman's soft form beneath my hands. It was in white and it covered that other dreadful figure with its own . . . and moaned.

"This won't do," I said to the girl. "Let me see how badly he's hurt."

She took Blister's head in her arms.

"Go 'way from here! He's dead," she said. "He saved me . . . he's mine! Go 'way from here!"

A crowd was forming. I sent a stableboy for a blanket, put it under Blister's head, despite the girl's protests, and pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Go over to that bale and sit down!" I ordered, giving her a shake; and to my surprise she obeyed. "Sit with her!" I said to the German, and I heard her repeat, "Go 'way from here!" as he approached. . . .

The ambulance clanged through the gate. The young surgeon put his ear to Blister's heart, picked the limp body up unaided and placed it in the somber-looking vehicle.

"Beat it, Max!" he said to the driver.

"What hospital?" I called after him.

"Saint Luke's!" he shouted, as they gathered speed.

"You had better take her home now," I suggested to Mr. Shultz. "I am going to the hospital."

"So am I," said the girl. "Tell mother," she directed at the German, as she started for the gate.

"You'd better not go," I remonstrated. "I'll let you know everything as soon as I hear."

She paid not the slightest attention. When we reached the street she stopped on the wrong corner waiting for a car that would have taken her away from, instead of toward, the hospital.

"You can't go down-town like this!" I said, making a last effort. "Look at your dress!" and I pointed to the front of her gown—a bright crimson under the electric light.

She looked down at herself and shuddered.

"I'll go if it's the last thing I do," she said. "You can save your breath."

The car was all but empty. The girl sat staring, dry-eyed, straight before her. A dirty old woman, seeing the set face and blood-stained dress, leaned eagerly across the aisle.

"Has the young lady been hurt?" she wheezed.

"None of your business," said Miss Malloy. And the old woman subsided at this shaft of plain truth.

Our ride was half completed when my companion began to speak, in a broken monotone. She addressed no one in particular. If was as though conscience spoke through unconscious lips.

"And I've been foolin' with him just like all the rest—I thought it was smart! I never knew, for sure, till back there, and now he'll never know . . . he'll not hear me when I tell it to him." Suddenly the monotone grew shrill. "He'll never hear nothing of what Eve found out!"

"Quiet! Quiet!" I said, and took her hand. "He's only hurt. The doctors will bring him around all right."

"No," she said. "I've been foolin' with him. I've been wicked and mean, and it's been sent to punish me."

A house surgeon and the engulfing odor of iodoform met us at the door of the emergency ward, whither we were led by a nurse.

"We can't tell anything before tomorrow," answered the surgeon to my question. "The pulse is fairly strong, and that means hope."

"I must see him," the girl stated.

"Sorry," said the surgeon, shaking his head. "No visitors allowed in this ward at night."

Two eyes, big and dark and beseeching, were raised to his. They shone from the white face and plead with him.

"Oh, doctor . . . please!" was all she said, but the eyes won her battle.

The nurse joined forces with the eyes. She looked past the surgeon.

"Very few in here to-night, Doctor Brandt," she urged.

"I wonder what would become of hospital rules if we left it to you nurses!" he protested, as he stepped aside and gently drew the girl within.

Down the dim aisle between the snowy beds we went, until the surgeon stopped at one, beside which sat a nurse, her fingers on the wrist of the bandaged occupant.

One bloodless hand picked feebly at the covering. The girl took this in both her own and pressed it to her cheek. Then stooping even lower, she cooed to the head on the pillow.

"The Big Train's pulled in . . ." muttered a far voice from between the bandages.

"Railroad man—isn't he?" inquired the surgeon of me.

"No. A horseman," I replied.

"He talks about trains. Was it a railroad accident?"

"He was injured by a horse called The Big Train," I explained.

"Oh—that one," he said, enlightened.

"Why don't they shoot him?"

"They did," I said.

"Good!" exclaimed the surgeon. "That is fine!"

After taking the girl to her home, I sent telegrams to "Mr. Van," as I had heard Blister call him—one to Morrisville, New Jersey, and one to the Union Club, New York. Judge and Mrs. Dillon were abroad.

When I had telephoned to the hospital the next morning, I went to the office and found a message on my desk. It read:

"Have everything possible done. Send all bills to me. He must come here to convalesce."

It was headed Morrisville, and was signed, "W. D. Van Voast."

That same day Blister was taken to a big, airy, private room with two nurses in attendance.

For a time it seemed hopeless. And then the fates decided to spare that valiant whimsical spirit and Death drew slowly back. The stallion had been unshod, and to this and the semi-darkness Blister owed his life.

I had met the girl frequently at the hospital and at last they told us we could see Blister for a moment the next day. Ten o'clock was the time set and as we sat in the visitor's room together, waiting, she seemed worried.

"You should be more cheerful," I said. "The danger is past, or we would not be allowed to see him."

"It isn't that," she replied. "I used to like horses. Now every horse I see scares me to death." Then she hesitated and looked at me timidly.

"Well," I encouraged, "that's natural, what of it?"

"I've been thinking—" she said slowly, "every girl should like what her husb—" she stopped and blushed till she looked like a rose in confusion.

"Oh, I see what you mean," I said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Since you care for Blister, you feel that you should also be interested in his profession."

"That's it! You say things just right!" she exclaimed gratefully.

"You will get over this dread of horses," I assured her. "Because there are murderers in the world you do not fear all men. Occasionally there are bad horses, just as there are bad people. You shouldn't judge all the splendid faithful creatures who spend their lives serving us, by one vicious brute."

"Oh, I know that!" she said. "And I'll try as hard as ever I can to get over it."

"This is quite a little woman . . . she has developed," I thought.

An unknown Blister with strange cavernous eyes, lay in the room to which we were presently taken. I stood at the foot of the bed, directly in his line of vision, but he did not seem to recognize me. He looked through and beyond me. At last—

"Hello, Four Eyes!" came feebly from him. Slowly he became conscious of the girl's face, looking down into his own. "You here, too?" he questioned.

"Yes, dear," she said tremblingly.

The sight of the poor sick face was too much for her and she knelt hastily to hide the tears. Then the round curve of her young bosom was indented by his wasted shoulder as she bent and kissed him on the mouth.

A woeful scar across his cheek reddened against the white skin. A flash of the old Blister appeared in the hollow eyes.

"There's class to that!" he said.



THE END