f cannon fire-crackers to be exploded in
Cox's front yard so that the invitation to the banquet might not be
overlooked. Then Slater told of Mr. Brassfield's adventures at the
Mardi Gras, the story consisting mostly of the account of Eugene's
wonderful series of winnings at the race course, where he adopted the
system of always finding what horse was given the longest odds, and
playing him.

"Our friend," said Slater, "on that last day, was too full of
mint-juleps and enthusiasm to tell the field from the judges' stand.
Said he never saw the judges' stand run with the horses before
(laughter); thought it was a good idea--judges could always tell
whether the riding was fair (cheers); and put his money on Azim at
about one hundred to one; and when Azim romped in a winner, they
stuffed all his pockets full of money, and the reporters came with
cameras to get shots at the northern millionaire who had such a
thundering run of luck, and you ought to have seen 'Gene when he saw
the papers in the morning! Had to take him to Pass Christian next day.
It was too strenuous for your humble servant at New Orleans. All the
sports knew him by this time, and wanted to run into him so as to touch
him for luck, and 'Gene wanted to fight every guy that touched him, and
about half the time was getting accommodated and taking second money in
every fight!" (Great laughter and applause.)

Amidon was unable to tell as to the absolute truth of these tales, but
they had such verisimilitude that they impressed and shocked him. He
was doubly astounded at the evident enjoyment with which they were
received by his friends, and especially at the fact of the hearty and
unrestrained manner in which Blodgett and even Blatherwick joined in
the applause. Every shot from the quiver of horse-play (except those
aimed at the luckless Cox) seemed directed at him, Amidon the
dignified. Here, it seemed, he was known to have been guilty of
gambling, drunkenness and libertinism--the three vices that he most
detested. His face burned with shame. How had Elizabeth ever cared
for such a man as that villain Brassfield? Where was the Sir Galahad,
or Lancelot either, in this life? He must somehow, some time, find a
way to tell her that it was Brassfield, not Amidon, who had done these
things, and that he, Amidon, reared by a doting mother and cared for by
a solicitous sister, and all his life the model of the moral town of
Hazelhurst, was as innocent of thes