“Now’s my time,” and Billy was up on the freezer, and had taken one great mouthful of the cream.
“O-o-oh! What a dreadful pain it gives me in my temples. I must swallow it very slowly, I see,” raising his head. “I wish I had some cake to eat with it. Mrs. Treat always serves it that way at Cloverleaf Farm. And now I understand why.”
Down he plunged his head once more, but he never took the second mouthful, for someone rudely seized him by his abbreviated tail, and after describing a circle in the air, he landed on the ground many feet away.
Trembling with pain, Billy darted blindly straight ahead, caring little where he went if only he escaped this giant of strength. The paroxysm of fright left him as soon as he heard a tumult of voices, and he opened his eyes in wonder to find that he had rushed into the tent, now crowded to its full capacity with diners. Such commotion as followed defies description. Everyone rose to their feet simultaneously, as Billy paused for a moment undecided what to do or where to go, and then made a dash for the other door. A waitress bearing aloft a loaded tray advanced down the narrow aisle, and it was no fault of Billy’s that she went sprawling and her dishes flying for he did his best to swerve to the right and give her the right of way. But the girl turned to her left in her excitement, and so a collision resulted. Billy darted on, escaped the shower of falling china, only to hook his horns in a rent in one of the table-cloths, and there followed another and a greater clatter of falling, breaking dishes. One man with more presence of mind than the rest reached for the cloth, thinking thus to arrest Billy’s flight, but with one vigorous forward leap the linen was torn from Billy’s horns, and he rushed out of the tent free.
“I’ll guarantee that some poor fellow will waste a quarter buying a meal ticket there, and then they’ll find their provisions have mysteriously disappeared, and they cannot give him a square meal,” Billy meditated, strolling slowly along in the genial sunshine of the early October day. In fact, after his exertions in the Congregational dinner tent, he felt disinclined to hurry, and he ambled along leisurely, a good-natured smile hovering around his mouth.
“Now for the races. Shall I take a grandstand seat? That’s the subject up for discussion. I believe I prefer a little more room than they give one there, and will occupy a special grandstand of my own. That high road-cart over there offers a splendid vantage point, and I’m thinking no one will care to dispute my right to it once I am installed and if they do—well, I think I may be able to establish my ownership with small difficulty. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, so I’ve heard them say.”
At this time of the day, before the races were begun, the race course was a common thoroughfare, and people crossed and recrossed without fear. Therefore Billy now crept under the two fences outlining the course, and in a few moments was viewing the world from his elevated seat in a most stylish turn-out.
A rattle of the gong at the judges’ stand announced that the hour for beginning the races had arrived, and out trotted the horses, each with his jaunty jockey in gay cap and trousers to match. What a storm of applause! How wild the people were over the promised contest for speed!
Up and down trotted the horses, to display their good points and to warm up for the first heat.