In the next stall stood Sadie B. She had been driven around by Jud Carpenter, between heats, to exercise her, he had said. She was warmed up, and ready for speed. Travis stood watching Lizzette cool out. Jud came up and stood looking searchingly at him. There was but a glance and a nod, and Travis walked over to the grand-stand, light-hearted and even jolly, where he stood in a group of society folks. 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?" The Bishop nodded, dazed: "Here, you're kinder feeble, weak an', an' sorter silly. Why, Bishop, you're recitin' poetry--" said Jack apologetically. "A man's gone when he does that--here!" He had gone to the old man's saddle bags, and brought out his ancient flask. "Jes' a swaller or two, Bishop," he said coaxingly, as one talking to a child--"Quick, now, you're not yo'self exactly--you've dropped into poetry." "I guess I am a little teched, Jack, but I don't need that when I can get poetry, sech poetry as is now in me. Jack, do you want to hear the gran'est verse ever writ in poetry?" "No--no, Bishop, don't! Jack Bracken's yo' friend, he'll freeze to you. You'll be all right soon. It's jes' a little spell. Brace up an' drop that stuff." The old man smiled sadly as if he pitied Jack. Then he repeated slowly: "Holy, holy, holy, all the saints adore Thee Castin' down their golden crowns around the glassy sea; Cherubim an' Seraphim, fallin' down before Thee Which wert an' art, an' ever more shall be." Feebly he leaned on Jack, the tears ran down his cheek: "'Tain't weakness, Jack, 'tain't that--it's joy, it's love of God, Whose done so much for me. It's the glory, glory of them lines--Oh, God--what a line of poetry!" "Castin' down their golden crowns around the glassy sea!" Ben Butler stood ready, the bell clanged again. Jack helped him into the sulky; never had he seen the old man so feeble. Travis was already at the post.