Riley Wilson is one of the best story-tellers who ever came out of the South. He loves to go to horseraces when he is not playing politics in his own state of West Virginia. Indeed he owns a string of race horses.
At the Latonia track once Riley ran into a rural friend of his from Tennessee and in the goodness of his heart gave him a tip on a horse which he had entered for one of the events. The friend excused himself and went away for a few minutes, and when he returned to where Wilson sat in the grand stand he confessed that he had wagered practically every cent he had on Wilson’s entry; which admission might be taken as evidence of sporting blood, inasmuch as it developed that he had never before seen a running race and never before had wagered money on one.
The gee-gees were off. At once Wilson’s horse and another contender took the lead. Together the pair of them fought it out all the way. Neck and neck they swung into the home stretch, and neck and neck they thundered toward the goal. A scant ten feet from the wire the rival horse gave a convulsive leap and won by half a nose from Wilson’s colt.
As this dreadful thing happened, the Tennesseean fell back in his seat, pawing at himself with both hands.
“Was it much of a shock to you?” asked Wilson.
“Much of a shock?” echoed the loser. “I ain’t been all over myself yet, but as fur as I’ve gone here’s what’s happened to me: My watch is stopped, both my suspenders is busted, and my glass eye is cracked right through the center.”
§ 142 His Worst Fears Confirmed
An elderly English actor came over to take his first American engagement. He had never visited the country before but he had strong—not to say fixed—prejudices touching on the United States, as compared with the British Isles.
The voyage across was a rough one and the visitor’s disposition did not sweeten by reason of it. On landing he started for an English boarding house uptown, where he had been told he could get English food uncontaminated by base Yankee notions. To keep down expenses he elected to repair thither by a street car instead of using a cab.
He emerged from the pier laden with his hatbox, his umbrella, his make-up tin, his grips—two in number—his steamer rug, his tea caddy, his overcoat, his framed picture of the Death of Nelson, and other prized personal belongings, and climbed aboard a car.