you must certainly be joking."

"I pledge you my word it's the solemn truth. I saw it myself. And
after that Judge Bullerton and General Harney, they took a turn
together, and that was the prettiest contest of the day. First the
judge'd beat the general, and then the general'd put in a big effort
and give it to the judge, and the two'd be about even for a while, and
all of a sudden the general would give a kinder jerk or two and leave
the judge just nowhere, and by the time the general passed the third
quarter the judge keeled over against the fence and gave in. They say
he broke his leg, but I don't know if that's so or not. Anyway he was
used up. If he'd passed that quarter, he might have been all right."

"What was the matter with the quarter? Wasn't it good?"

"Oh yes. But you see the judge must have lost his wind or something;
and I reckon when he tumbled it was something like a faint, you know."

"Served him right for engaging in such a brutal contest."

"Well, I dunno. Depends on how you look at such things. And when that
was over, Longfellow entered with Mattie Evelyn. He kept shooting past
her all the time, and this worried her so that she ran a little to one
side, and somehow, I dunno how it happened, but his leg tripped her,
and she rolled over on the ground, hurt pretty bad, I think, while
Longfellow had his leg cut pretty near to the bone."

"Did any of the shots strike her?"

"I don't understand you."

"You said he kept shooting past her, and I thought maybe some of the
bullets might have struck her."

"Why, I meant that he _ran_ past her, of course. How in the thunder
could he shoot bullets at her?"

"I thought maybe he had a gun. But I don't understand any of it. It is
the most astounding thing I ever heard of, at any rate."

"Now, my dear sir, I want to ask you how Longfellow _could_ manage a
gun?"

"Why, as any other man does, of course."

"Man! man! Why, merciful Moses! you didn't think I was talking about
human beings all this time, did you? Why, Longfellow is a horse! They
were racing--running races over at the course this afternoon; and I
was trying to tell you about it."

"You don't say?" remarked the doctor, with a sigh of relief. "Well, I
declare, I thought you were speaking of the poet, and I hardly knew
whether to believe you or not; it seemed so strange that he should
behave in that manner."

Then Mr. Butterwick went into the smoking-car to tell the joke to his
friends, and