342 THE LUKE UGHTWOOD LEGACY. 



each horse had his partisans, there was a considerable 

 amount of excitement visible. There was a great 

 deal of betting, too, and jack-knives, dimes, and thim- 

 bles were waged freely upon the result of the race, 

 while a pair of ardent bare-footed lovers, who ap- 

 peared upon the course hand in hand, were heard to 

 bet a kiss ; and in a very short time afterwards were 

 both seen to pay up before it was known who was 

 to win. 



The greatest character upon the ground was Mat 

 Martin's wife, who, knowing that "doubtful things 

 are mighty onsartin," and that Mat might possibly 

 lose the race, had determined — spirited woman that 

 she was(!) — that she would try to make something 

 sure anyhow, and so appeared upon the ground, in a 

 little wagon, well stocked from her husband's grocery. 

 Tom and I soon found her out, and by a few well- 

 timed compliments paid to the horse so completely 

 won her heart that she invited us to drink, and im- 

 mediately produced a bottle of liquid, which she pro- 

 nounced to be the "rale brandy, none of your make- 

 believe stuff," and told us to help ourselves. We 

 complied without hesitation, and each poured out a 

 moderate drink and drank it. How I ever managed 

 to swallow my share of it I do not know, for a more 

 detestable compound never was labelled brandy. I 

 did swallow it, however, but could not repress the 

 look of disgust which rose to my face, nor prevent the 

 involuntary application of my hand to my burning 

 "innards." The woman turned fiercely toward me, 

 and exclaimed : "Now, look here, stranger, you 

 needn't put on any of your squalmishness and city 

 ways about that brandy, 'cause I know it is the rale 

 stuff, 'cause my old man paid sixty cents a gallon for 



