The races were to begin at two o’clock. Long before that hour most of the best seats were filled, and there was a crowd on the way to the athletic grounds that would tax the capacity of the bleachers.
About half-past one o’clock a rather gaunt individual might have been seen making his way toward the athletic grounds. He wore a pair of patched trousers and a green coat, with a red patch on either elbow.
“Hi there!” called some boys. “Look at the hobo going to enter the races.”
“Oh, I may be a hobo, but I’m not a dodo; put that in your pipe and smoke it till night. That ain’t a good rhyme, but it’ll do this time,” recited the man in a sing-song tone.
“Ha! Ha! Isn’t he funny!” laughed some small boys.
Hearing the sound of laughter Ned, Bob and Jerry, who were walking together in the fields, a short distance away from the athletic grounds, came over.
“Why it’s Old Pete!” cried Bob. “Hello Pete! I say, Old Pete Bumps!” he called, waving his hand to the man with a green coat and a red patch on either elbow.
“Oh, I say, is that you, why how do you do?” said Mr., otherwise Old Pete Bumps, who was a general man of all work about Mr. Baker’s place. He did everything from feeding the chickens to taking out the ashes.
“Hello Pete!” called Jerry and Ned in chorus. “What did you come for? Are you going to race?”