Suddenly the grandstand broke out into a prayer, a wailing cry which urged, pleaded, implored!
“Come on, Doodlebug! Come on, Doodlebug! Come on, Doodlebug!”
“COME on, Doodlebug!” Pap shrieked, with tears in his eyes, and agony in his voice, and tragedy in his heart. “Oh, fer Gawdlemighty’s sake, come on!”
Again some one pulled at Pap’s arm, and a pleading voice spoke to him. Again Pap savagely shook himself loose, struck out blindly and insanely at the person behind him.
Then a mighty moaning sound broke from the grandstand, the lamentation of a crushed, disappointed, bankrupted multitude.
Nigger Blackie was under the wire, a winner by three lengths!
Pap Curtain turned away from the track, dazed, nauseated, his yellow cheeks streaked with white, his sneering lips hanging loosely and quivering, his mouth as dry as sawdust, his tongue feeling like it was as big and rough as a door-mat.
Once more some one pulled at Pap’s shoulder, and a pleading voice spoke tearfully:
“Oh, Pap! I been lookin’ fer you eve’ywhar! I was tryin’ to kotch you an’ tip you off!”
“Whut’s dat?” Pap asked, turning his dazed, unseeing eyes upon the girl.