e had a little white cigyar
in his mouth, and you could tell by his breath that he'd been
drinkin'.

"Now I ain't much of a hand for meddlin' with other folks' business,
but I'd been readin' about the Salvation Army, and how they preach on
the street; and it come into my head that here was a time for some
Salvation work. And I says to him, says I, 'Son, there's another thing
that Kentucky used to be hard to beat on, and that was fine men. But,'
says I, 'betwixt the fine horses and the fine women and the fine
whisky, some o' the men has got to be a mighty common lot.' Says I,
'Holler as much as you please for that horse out there; he's worth
hollerin' for. But,' says I, 'when a state's got to raisin' a better
breed o' horses than she raises men, it ain't no time to be hollerin'
"hurrah" for her.' Says I, 'You're your father's son, and yonder's
your father's horse; now which do you reckon your father's proudest of
to-day, his horse or his son?'

"Well, folks begun to laugh again, and the boy looked like he wanted
to say somethin' sassy, but he couldn't git his wits together enough
to think up anything. And I says, says I, 'That horse never touched
whisky or tobacco in his life; he's clean-blooded and clean-lived, and
he'll live to a good old age; and, maybe, when he dies they'll bury
him like a Christian, and put a monument up over him like they did
over Ten Broeck. But you, why, you ain't hardly out o' your short
pants, and you're fifty years old if you're a day. You'll bring your
father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, and you'll go to your own
grave a heap sooner'n you ought to, and nobody'll ever build a
monument over you.'

"There was three or four boys along with the Lexin'ton boy, and one of
'em that appeared to have less whisky in him than the rest, he says,
'Well, grandma, I reckon you're about right; we're a pretty bad lot.'
And says he, 'Come on, boys, and let's git out o' this.' And off they
went; and whether my preachin' ever did 'em any good I don't know, but
I couldn't help sayin' what I did, and that's the last time I ever
went to these new-fashioned fairs they're havin' nowadays. Fair time
used to mean a heap to me, but now it don't mean anything but jest to
put me in mind o' old times."

Just then there was a sound of galloping hoofs on the pike, and loud
"whoas" from a rider in distress. We started up with the eagerness of
those whose lives have flowed too long in the channels of stillness
and