Just before noon the crowd, now astonishingly large, gathered at the little running track to watch the sports. First came the sack-races; then the pole-climbing; then the potato-race. Finnegan, by this time delirious with excitement, had to be held down by main force to discourage his wild ambition to take an active part in each event. Last on the programme came the greased-pig race.
Now, the greased-pig race dates back a hundred years and more, to the days when the Kentucky pioneers met for their rare frolics of house-raising or corn-husking. It is a quaint old sport, very rough, very grimy and breathless, very ridiculously funny. A lively little pig is chosen and greased with melted tallow from head to tail. Then he is set free on the running-track. Half a minute later, the starting-gun booms the signal for his hunters to dash in pursuit. The winner must capture piggy with his bare hands and carry the squirming, slippery armful back to the judges' stand. If piggy escapes en route, the race must be run over again from the very start.
The competitors are boys and young men. Only the fleet-footed can hope for a chance at success. But even as the starter stood calling the race through his big red megaphone, a tall, elderly man shouldered up to their group and hailed Mr. McCloskey.
"Good-day, commodore! You're here to see the greased-pig race? My faith, do you remember the race that we two ran, down in Pike County in '63?"
The commodore beamed at his old neighbor.
"'Deed an' I do. And it was meself that captured that elegant pig, I remember."
"You did that. But it was by accident entirely. For I had all but laid my hand on the pig when you snatched it from under my grasp. I've grudged ye that pig ever since."
The little commodore's eyes snapped. He bristled from the crest of his white head to the toes of his polished boots. His voice took on an ominously silver tone.
"By my word, I'm sorry to learn that that small pig has stood between us all these years, Mister Jennings. If it could give you satisfaction, I'd beg you to run that race over again with me. Or, we might race each other in the contest that is just about to take place. What do ye say?"
For a minute, the astounded Mr. Jennings found nothing whatever to say.