ll your expenses. Well, this
is all for the present.

"Resp.

"Blister Jones.

"P. S. Now, be sure to come as I want you to see the mare. She is sure
a good mare."

I laid the letter down with a sigh. The mare referred to was the now
mighty Tres Jolie favorite for the Kentucky Derby. I had seen her once
when a two-year-old, and I remembered Blister's pride as he told me she
was to be placed in his hands by Judge Dillon.

Yes, I would be glad to see "the mare," and I longed for the free
sunlit world of which she was a part, as for a tonic. But this was, of
course, impossible. So long as hard undiscerning materialism demanded
editorials--editorials I must furnish.

"Damn such a pen!" I said aloud, at its first scratch.

"Quite right!" boomed a deep voice. A big gentle hand fell on my
shoulder and spun me away from the desk. "See here," the voice went on
gruffly, "you're back too soon. We can't afford to take chances with
_you_. Get out of this. The cashier'll fix you up. Don't let me see
you around here again till--we have better pens," and he was gone
before thanks were possible.

"I'm going to Churchill Downs to cover the derby for a Sunday special!"
I sang to the sporting editor as I passed his door.

"The _Review of Reviews_ might use it!" followed me down the hall, and
I chuckled as I headed for the cashier's desk.

"Well, well, well!" was Blister's greeting. "Look who's here! I seen
your ole specs shinin' in the sun clear down the line!"

I sniffed luxuriously.

"It smells just the same," I said. "Horses, leather and liniment!
Where's Tres Jolie?"

"In the second stall," said Blister, pointing. "Wait a minute--I'll
have a swipe lead her out. Chick!"--this to a boy dozing on a rickety
stool--"if your time ain't too much took up holdin' down that chair,
this gentleman 'ud like to take a pike at the derby entry."

Like a polished red-bronze sword leaping from a black velvet scabbard
the mare came out of her stall into the sunlight, the boy clinging
wildly to the strap. She snorted, tossed her glorious head, and shot
her hind feet straight for the sky.

"You, Jane, be a lady now!" yelled the boy, trying to stroke the
arching neck.

"Why does he call her Jane?" I asked.

"Stable name," Blister explained. "Don't get too close--she's right on
edge!" And after a pause, his eyes shining: "Can you beat her?"

I shook my head, speechless.

"Neither can _they_!" Blister's hand s