236 TALKS OF THE TURF. 



"You yust ou't to see me beating dat Euclid Avenue 

 fellar wot's got dot gray mare. Dot was the sickest fel- 

 lar you saw in a long time. Oh, I yust done 'em as I 

 come to them," says 'The Sandpiper." 



"I believe you do, and you've got a trotter there, sure 

 enough. Why don't you enter her for the races next 

 week? She'd give them all a race, and you would have 

 more fun in one day than you have now in six months. 

 I'll get some one to drive her for you." 



The mare had never been hitched to a sulky in her life, 

 and the Dutchman, I thought, would need a stepladder to 

 get into one. It required considerable gall to ask for the 

 entry, but even a Secretary had not sufficient of that 

 commodity to suggest the propriety of the owner's driv- 



ing. 



'Well, by ginger, I never thought of that before. Say, 

 if I enter her, may I drive in the race ?" 



"Certainly, you can." 



"Den I enter her, and here was the cash." 



In the sleeping car that night visions of The Sand- 

 piper" and his bay mare haunted my dreams. I felt like a 

 pickpocket after a successful raid. It was just stealing 

 the Dutchman's money, and I blushed a Secretary's blush. 

 My sympathy evaporated though when I thought of that 

 bill he brought against the driving park the spring before 

 for the gravel furnished for its driveways ; and I went tc 

 sleep with sweet but unchristian thought of getting even 

 with that Dutchman just once. 



I worked hard at the Wheeling fair grounds all the 

 next day. I had passed and repassed many times a small. 

 elderlv man sitting on a wooden trunk in front of a stall, 

 and had even handed him a programme and entry blank, 

 which he silently took — and still continued sitting on that 



