Mandy was atop a red-wheeled spring wagon. A sailor hat--price, trimmed, forty-five cents--overshadowed her smiling face, and a new dress cleverly fashioned out of white cheese cloth, embellished her person. She had been watching her lover closely for upwards of an hour, but expressed superlative surprise at seeing him.
"Why, Nal," she said demurely "this ain't you? You are acquainted with Mis' Root, I guess?"
Nal removed his cap with a flourish, and Mrs. Root, a large, lymphatic, prolific female, entreated him to ascend the wagon and sit down.
"You have a horse runnin', Mister Roberts?"
"Yes, marm, By-Jo."
"By what?"
"By Diamond," replied Rinaldo, glibly, "outer Cap Wilson's old Sally. She was by----"
"Mis' Root didn't catch the name right," interrupted Mandy. "It's By- Jo, Mis' Root--that's French."
"Mercy me, ain't that nice--quite toney. I hope he'll win if Mister Bobo's horse don't."
"Nal," whispered Mandy, "you've not been betting against Comet, have you?"