HOW A SWIPE WON 



He was entered at Columbus, O., against such good 

 ones as Baron Dillon, Geneva, Roseleaf, Russellmont and 

 Aline ; the entrance money had been sent with his nomina- 

 tion, and Billy — that's his owner — was to be there to 

 drive. Josh — that was his "swipe" — had his satin chest- 

 nut coat (the horse's) like burnished copper in the sun- 

 light ; and patting the glossy neck of his friend — for a 

 good trotting-horse groom is always a friend of the horse 

 he "rubs" — Josh soliloquized, "Old fellow, you're fit to 

 trot for the Persian Empire, pearls and diamonds thrown 

 in, and you'll win, won't you, old boy ? Then this winter 

 I'll have a woolly overcoat with a velvet collar, striped 

 pants, a red necktie and pointed-toed patent-leather shoes, 

 and I'll cut a swell around home, you bet, for Bourbon, 

 I've got my last nickel on you, not enough left to pay the 

 washwoman. You'll win, won't you, old Bourb? But 

 why don't Billy show up, it's nearly time for the warming- 

 up heat?" 



Thirty miles away that day the engine of a passenger 

 train headed for Columbus, whistled, slowed, stopped — 

 breathing and panting like a human being, as good 

 engines do. A freight train wreck on the track ; no tele- 

 graph office, no prospect of getting through for hours, 

 Billy a passenger on that train, and Bourbon's race to be 

 called in less than two hours. 



Clank ! clank ! clank ! went the call bell for the first 

 race on the card, and no Billy yet. Josh "warmed up" 

 Bourbon ; still no driver, and the race was called. "It's 



