ave heard of Uncle Jake," I said, as the old man felt his way
toward us.

"Yes?" said Mrs. Dillon. "He insisted upon coming to _see_ the derby."
She dwelt ever so lightly upon the verb, and Uncle Jake caught it.

"No, Miss Sally," he explained, "dat ain' 'zackly what I mean. Hit's
like dis--I just am boun' foh to hyah all de folks shout glory when ma
Honey-bird comes home!"

"What if she ain't in front, Uncle Jake?" said Blister, helping the old
man into the motor.

"Don't you trifle with me, boy!" replied Uncle Jake severely.

Derby day dawned as fair as turquoise sky and radiant sun could make
it. I had slept badly. Until late the night before I had absorbed a
haze of cigar smoke and the talk in the hotel lobby. Despite Blister's
confidence I had become panicky as I listened. There had been so much
assurance about several grave, soft-spoken horsemen who had felt that
at the weight the favorite could not win.

"Nevah foh a moment, suh," one elderly well-preserved Kentuckian had
said, "will I deny the Dillon mare the right to be the public's choice.
But she has nevah met such a field of hosses as this, suh--and she
lacks the bone to carry top weight against them."

There had been many nods of approval at this statement, and I had gone
to the Dillon party for consolation. But when I reached their
apartments I had found the judge more silent than ever, and Mrs. Dillon
as nervous as myself. Only Miss Goodloe appeared as usual. Her drawl
was soothingly indolent. She seemed entirely oblivious of any
tenseness in the atmosphere, and I caught myself wondering what was
behind those lazy-lidded blue eyes.

Back in the lobby once more I had found it worse than ever--so many
were against the favorite. I had about decided that our hopes were
doomed, when a call boy summoned me to the desk with the statement,
"Gentleman to see you, sir."

There I had found Blister and I fairly hugged him as he explained that
he had dropped in on the way to his "joint," as he called his hotel.

"Listenin' to the knockers?" he asked, reading me at once. "Furget
it--them ole mint juleps is dead 'n' buried. You'll go dippy if you
fall fur that stuff."

"But the weight!" I gasped.

"Say, they've got you goin' right, ain't they?" Blister exclaimed.
"Now listen! _She can carry the grand-stand 'n' come home on the bit_!
Get that fixed in your nut, 'n' then hit the hay."

"Thanks, I believe I shall," I said, and I had followed