with bulging
hip-pockets, dangling billies and gleaming shields of office--"and at my
refreshment tents behind"--where peanuts and pink lemonade were keeping
the multitude busy--"and my attendants"--colored gentlemen with sponges
and water-buckets--"the armorers and farriers haven't come yet. But my
knight--I got his clothes in New York--just wait--Love of Ladies and
Glory to the Brave!" Just then there was a commotion on the free seats
on one side of the grandstand. A darky starting, in all ignorance, to
mount them was stopped and jostled none too good-naturedly back to the
ground.

"And see," mused the Hon. Sam, "in lieu of the dog of an unbeliever we
have a dark analogy in that son of Ham."

The little sister plucked me by the sleeve and pointed toward the
entrance. Outside and leaning on the fence were Mollie, the big sister,
and little Buck. Straightway I got up and started for them. They hung
back, but I persuaded them to come, and I led them to seats two tiers
below the Blight--who, with my little sister, rose smiling to greet
them and shake hands--much to the wonder of the nobles and ladies close
about, for Mollie was in brave and dazzling array, blushing fiercely,
and little Buck looked as though he would die of such conspicuousness.
No embarrassing questions were asked about Mart or Dave Branham, but I
noticed that Mollie had purple and crimson ribbons clinched in one brown
hand. The purpose of them was plain, and I whispered to the Blight:

"She's going to pin them on Dave's lance." The Hon. Sam heard me.

"Not on your life," he said emphatically. "I ain't takin' chances," and
he nodded toward the Blight. "She's got to win, no matter who loses." He
rose to his feet suddenly.

"Glory to the Brave--they're comin'! Toot that horn, son," he said;
"they're comin'," and the band burst into discordant sounds that would
have made the "wild barbaric music" on the field of Ashby sound like a
lullaby. The Blight stifled her laughter over that amazing music with
her handkerchief, and even the Hon. Sam scowled.

"Gee!" he said; "it is pretty bad, isn't it?"

"Here they come!"

The nobles and ladies on the grandstand, the yeomanry and spectators of
better degree, and the promiscuous multitude began to sway expectantly
and over the hill came the knights, single file, gorgeous in velvets and
in caps, with waving plumes and with polished spears, vertical, resting
on the right stirrup foot and gleaming in the sun.