Part 11 (1/2)

”Faix, an' if I wuz slipper I could load the dice so Minkie would flyer score a p'int, but her runnin' mate would have the same bad luck.”

”That so?” The diamond man looked interested. ”All right--fix it so; it means two cigars.”

Slipper Slyman had always dealt on the square, had scorned many approaches--that was well known. Most believed in him, but there were some malcontents, and when a man with many gold seals approached the Steward and formulated charges, serious and well-backed, they must perforce suspend the slipper pending an inquiry, and thus Mickey Doo reigned in his stead.

Mickey was poor and not over-scrupulous. Here was a chance to make a year's pay in a minute, nothing wrong about it, no harm to the Dog or the Rabbit either.

One Jack-rabbit is much like another. Everybody knows that; it was simply a question of choosing your Jack.

The preliminaries were over. Fifty Jacks had been run and killed.

Mickey had done his work satisfactorily; a fair slip had been given to every leash. He was still in command as slipper. Now came the final for the cup--the cup and the large stakes.

VII

There were the slim and elegant Dogs awaiting their turn. Minkie and her rival were first. Everything had been fair so far, and who can say that what followed was unfair? Mickey could turn out which Jack he pleased.

”Number three!” he called to his partner.

Out leaped the Little Warhorse,--black and white his great ears, easy and low his five-foot bounds; gazing wildly at the unwonted crowd about the Park, he leaped high in one surprising spy-hop.

”Hrrrrr!” shouted the slipper, and his partner rattled a stick on the fence. The Warhorse's bounds increased to eight or nine feet.

”Hrrrrrr!” and they were ten or twelve feet. At thirty yards the Hounds were slipped--an even slip; some thought it could have been done at twenty yards.

”Hrrrrrr! Hrrrrrrr!” and the Warhorse was doing fourteen-foot leaps, not a spy-hop among them.

”Hrrrrr!” wonderful Dogs! how they sailed; but drifting ahead of them, like a white sea-bird or flying scud, was the Warhorse. Away past the Grand Stand. And the Dogs--were they closing the gap of start? Closing!

It was lengthening! In less time than it takes to tell it, that black-and-white thistledown had drifted away through the Haven door,--the door so like that good old hen-hole,--and the Grey-hounds pulled up amidst a roar of derision and cheers for the Little Warhorse.

How Mickey did laugh! How Dignam did swear! How the newspaper men did scribble--scribble--scribble!

Next day there was a paragraph in all the papers: ”WONDERFUL FEAT OF A JACKRABBIT. The Little Warhorse, as he has been styled, completely skunked two of the most famous Dogs on the turf,” etc.

There was a fierce wrangle among the dog-men. This was a tie, since neither had scored, and Minkie and her rival were allowed to run again; but that half-mile had been too hot, and they had no show for the cup.

Mickey met ”Diamonds” next day, by chance.

”Have a cigar, Mickey.”

”Oi will thot, sor. Faix, thim's so foine; I'd loike two--thank ye, sor.”

VIII

From that time the Little Warhorse became the pride of the Irish boy.

Slipper Slyman had been honorably reinstated and Mickey reduced to the rank of Jack-starter, but that merely helped to turn his sympathies from the Dogs to the Rabbits, or rather to the Warhorse, for of all the five hundred that were brought in from the drive he alone had won renown. There were several that crossed the Park to run again another day, but he alone had crossed the course without getting even a turn.

Twice a week the meets took place; forty or fifty Jacks were killed each time, and the five hundred in the pen had been nearly all eaten of the arena.

The Warhorse had run each day, and as often had made the Haven. Mickey became wildly enthusiastic about his favorite's powers. He begot a positive affection for the clean-limbed racer, and stoutly maintained against all that it was a positive honor to a Dog to be disgraced by such a Jack.