“It’s the only life worth livin’, ma’am, in my opinion. Which same I don’t go for to set up ag’in that of any other man or woman, only for myself. I—I couldn’t exist anywheres elst, for any great length o’ time. I don’t want nothin’ less ’an a ten-mile field to swing my long arms round in. There ain’t—But, what’s the use? If I talked all day I couldn’t tell nobody what them big open spaces o’ airth an’ sky is to me; an’ if they’s a good Lord anywheres about, He’s out there in them blossomin’ plains an’ snow-capped mountains an’ etarnal sunshine.”
“My old Marm uset ter sing ’bout the ‘Beautiful Heaven above,’ an’ ’pear to enjoy thinkin’ on ’t; an’ once I ast her what she ’lowed it was like. She said if ’t was like anything she knowed, she’d ruther it’d be like Salem village,—out hum in the State o’ Massachusetts,—an’ ary other place she’d ever seen. But I don’t want no villages in mine; an’ if ever I git thar I don’t ask no purtier place ’an Californy to go ridin’ round in, forever an’ ever. Amen.”
“Ah! Well, to most of us, probably, Heaven is typical of what we like best,” said the Judge, gravely, and led the way library-ward. Where, for a while, he held a most absorbing conversation with this stranger from the West; and when it was ended his genial countenance was even more serious than before.
Then came the shouts of the children, eager to be off to the “course;” and thither, presently, everybody repaired.
“Well, Little Un, you look prime! Bless my eyes! ’Pears ye’ve growed more ’n five months’ wuth, in these five months o’ time, long as they has be’n to old Bob, without ye. An’, huckleberries! They is quite a crowd around, ain’t they! Well, you don’t mind that none, do ye?”
“Why, of course not; an’, Bob, let me tell you, you stand in some certain place,—you pick out where,—an’ every time I go round I’ll look at you, see? Then you can make all the old signs you used to make, an’ it’ll be a’most as good as Santa Felisa. But, think of it! A thousand dollars! I want to win just as much. I truly do. Don’t I? If only for Judge Courtenay’s sake, ’cause he’s so dear an’ kind, an’ he’s Beatrice’s papa,—an’ I love her so very, very much. But most of all, now—an’ it grows more an’ more so—I wish to get that money so my darling old grandmother won’t have to leave her own home an’ her pretty library, nor anything. Oh, do you think I’ll do it?”
“Sartain. Sartain as I live. But you an’ I’ve got a job to tackle arterwards. Look at these horses round here! Did ye ever see sech a lot o’ poor, tortured, mis’able critters? Look at that check-strap yonder! The man ’at owns the poor thing ’pears quite peart an’ quality-like, but he’s a fool all the same. Wish I could hitch a string to his front lock o’ hair an’ yank his idiotic old head over back’ards, same way! Bet he wouldn’t go trot, trot, round that peaceable. No, siree, he’d yell like a painter, an’ smash things if he couldn’t get loose. An’ that other nincompoop further down that way, see that breechin’ he’s put on his horse? He’d oughter be shot, ’cause big’s the world is thar ain’t room enough in it for sech idiots as him! If I was that horse I’d set right down on that strap an’ go to sleep, I would.”
“Oh, you dear old scolder! You’ll see lots o’ cruelty to horses here in Old Knollsboro; but the folks don’t understand ’em as well as you an’ I do. That’s the reason. My father says it isn’t ’tentional unkindness, it’s only ignorance. Ah! There they are calling me. Come!”
The news had spread that Judge Courtenay had found a jockey to ride his Trix, and one who was to drive her in the trainer’s place; so the spirit of his wealthy opponent sank a little. However, an untried, unpractised assistant, as this new hand must be, was quite as liable to lose as win the contest for his employer, even though the animal he rode was unequalled for speed. This second thought sent a thrill of satisfaction to the heart of Doctor Gerould, the master of Rookwood’s rival, and he now felt confident of his own success. Like his friend, the Judge, he was warmly enthusiastic over his “hobby,” and would, in the height of his excitement, have gone to any honest length to carry off that day’s laurels.
But when, after some preliminary contests between inferior beasts, the real one began, and the four thoroughbreds who were to compete for the famous “Rookwood cup” were drawn into line at the starting place, he saw the girlish little figure which was lifted into the sulky behind Trixie, his courage ebbed again.