He was met by a protest of feminine raillery: “Oh, our gloves, our candy! Oh, Mr. Travis, to get beat that way!”
He laughed: “I'll pay all you ladies lose. I was just playing with the old pacer. Bet more gloves and candy on the next heat!”
“Oh—oh,” they laughed. “No—no-o! We've seen enough!”
Travis smiled and walked off. He turned at the gate and threw them back a bantering kiss.
“You'll see—” was all he said.
The old man spent the twenty minutes helping to rub off Ben Butler.
“It does me good—kinder unkeys me,” he said to Bud and Jack. He put his ear to the old horses' flank—it pulsed strong and true.
Then he laughed to himself. It vexed him, for it was half hysterical and he kept saying over to himself:
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty—
All Thy works shall praise Thy name, in earth and sky and sea;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty—”
Some one touched his arm. It was Jack: “Bishop, Bishop, time's up! We're ready. Do you hear the bell clanging?”