Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
No. Horse-racing bores me to death, and as I am one of the charter
members of the Anti-Other-Folks-Enjoyment Society, organized to stop
people from amusing themselves in ways that we don't care for, you
can readily see that it is a matter of principle with me to ignore
horseracing, and not to give it so much encouragement as would come from
mentioning it.
If you're so interested in improving the breed of horses by competitive
contests, what 's the matter with that one where the prize is $5 for the
team that can haul the heaviest load on a stoneboat, straight pulling?
Pile on enough stones to build a house, pretty near, and the owner
of the team, a young fellow with a face like Keats, goes “Ck! Ck! Ck!
Geet... ep... thah BILL! Geet ep, Doll-ay!” and cracks his whip, and
kisses with his mouth, and the horses dance and tug, and jump around and
strain till the stone-boat slides on the grass, and then men climb on
until the load gets so heavy that the team can't budge it. Then another
team tries, and so on, the competitors jawing and jowering at each other
with: “Ah, that ain't fair! That ain't fair! They started it sideways.”
“That don't make no difference.”
“Yes, it does, too, make a difference. Straight ahead four inches.
that's the rule.”
“Well, didn't they go straight ahead four inches? What's a matter with
ye?”
“I'll darn soon show ye what's the matter with me, you come any o' your
shenanigan around here.”
“Mighty ready to accuse other folks o' shenannigan, ain't ye? For half
a cent I'd paste you in the moot.”
“Now, boys! Now boys! None o' that.”
Lots more excitement than a horse-race. Lots more improving to the mind,
and beneficial to the country.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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