CRESCEUS, 2 ; O 2 */ 4 



ter when he appeared. Fair debutantes, in all the be- 

 wildering beauty of new horse-show gowns, clapped 

 their daintily-gloved hands and laughed with glee. 

 Patersfamilias, dignified old fellows, threw reserve to 

 the winds and whooped like schoolboys. And here 

 and there, sailing through the air, could be seen the 

 high silk tile of some overenthusiastic young member 

 of the upper ten, who had lost control of his feelings 

 in the exuberance of having seen a great horse trot 

 against time. Mr. James Oglebay and others had ar- 

 ranged all the details of the affair, and there was not 

 a single hitch in the proceedings. 



It was a magnificent sight, those thousands cheering 

 the name of Cresceus, the "monarch of the mile," but 

 the greatest sight was the seasoned old horseman. To 

 be sure he didn't wear his coat as if it was comforta- 

 ble. Sometimes he had his trousers tucked in at the 

 tops of his cowhide boots, which had been neatly 

 shined at great expense, all in honor of Cresceus. 

 But he knew the gocfd points and the bad points about 

 a race-horse, and if there was a cloud of doubt upon 

 his face when Cresceus, looking more like a sleepy 

 buggy horse than a record breaker, was led down the 

 stretch, it had given way to the sunshine of gladness. 

 Mostly, he laid back his head and just merely yelled 

 joyously yelled until the hills echoed and re-echoed 

 and fairly shook with the volume of sound that he 

 poured out against their sides yelled till his beaming 



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