A man with half an eye could have seen it, but the funny people in the grand-stand saw only the harness, and the blind sunken eyes of the old horse. So they shouted and cat-called and jeered. The outfit ambled up to the starting judge, and the old driver handed him fifty dollars.
The starter laughed as he recovered himself, and winking at the others, asked:
“What's this for, old man?”
“Oh, jes' thought I'd j'ine in—” smiling.
“Why, you can't do it. What's your authority?”
The Bishop ran his hand in his pocket, while Bud held Ben Butler's head and kept saying with comical seriousness: “Whoa—whoa, sah!”
Pending it all, and seeing that more talk was coming, Ben Butler promptly went to sleep. Finally the old man brought out a faded poster. It was Travis's challenge and conditions.
“Jes' read it,” said the old driver, “an' see if I ain't under the conditions.”
The starting judge read: “Open to the Tennessee Valley—trot or pace. Parties entering, other than the match makers, to pay fifty dollars at the wire.”
“Phew!” said the starting judge, as he scratched his head. Then he stroked his chin and re-read the conditions, looking humorously down over his glasses at the queer combination before him.