THE SECRETARY. 245 



One driver has a sore-toed horse, and to him the track 

 is "hard as a pavement." To another one the track is soft 

 and cuppy, and he wants smooth, firm footing. 



Meanwhile the wiseacre who writes for the papers 

 looks on, shaking his head in the most dismal manner, de- 

 ploring the ignorance of track managers in general, and 

 this blessed secretary in particular. 



"Entrance fee! Entrance fee? Why, you ought to 

 give me all my entrances free ; my stable is a strong one 

 and will advertise your meeting." 



"Give me a special of $5,000, for my Will-o'-the-Wisp 

 to go against the record of any spotted horse, to a seventy - 

 eight pound sulky with a two hundred pound driver." 



"One dollar gate admission ! Great Scott ! Chain up 

 that secretary. When was he born? Why doesn't he 

 keep up with the times? Doesn't he know if they'd 

 charge twenty-five cents at the gate the grounds would be 

 packed? What a fine plum of a secretary he is! Blow- 

 ing bladders in a snuff factory would better suit his abil- 

 ity. He doesn't know as much about running a race track 

 as I do about sliding down a rainbow. A dollar ! Noah 

 must have dropped him out of the ark." 



"Now, that's a measly trick that secretary has played 

 on me, charging me to come into that gate. Why, 1 sold 

 the president of the society a barrel of molasses in 1869, 

 and'now I'm charged to come into the gate." 



"Yes, and my grandmother buttoned that secretary's 

 aunt's cousin's suspenders when he was a mere kid, but 

 he charged me. Oh, he's a wolf." 



"Give me my badge, will you ? Who am I ? That's a 

 fine question to ask ! Why, Jim Goosenest has been train- 

 ing my colt, Shooting Comet, over this track for sixteen 

 days past." 



