Деймон Раньон: It Comes Up Mud

Then he goes on speaking in a low voice and states that he receives a telephone message from New York an hour or so before at his lodge telling him he must hurry home, and right away afterward, while he is trying to telephone the station at Tillinghast to make sure they will hold the Orange Blossom until he gets there, no matter what, all the telephone and telegraph wires around and about go down in the storm.

So he starts for the station in his car, and just as it looks as if he may make it, his car runs smack-dab into a ditch and Mr. Paul D. Veere's leg is hurt so there is no chance he can walk the rest of the way to the station, and there Mr. Paul D. Veere is.

"It is a very desperate case, folks," Mr. Paul D. Veere says. "Let me take your automobile, and I will reward you liberally."

Well, at this Miss Beulah Beauregard's papa looks at a clock on the kitchen wall and states as follows:

"We do not keep an automobile, neighbor," he says, "and anyway," he says, "it is quite a piece from here to Tillinghast and the Orange Blossom is due in ten minutes, so I do not see how you can possibly make it. Rest your hat, neighbor," Miss Beulah Beauregard's papa says, "and have some skimmin's, and take things easy, and I will look at your leg and see how bad you are bunged up."

Well, Mr. Paul D. Veere seems to turn as pale as a pillow as he hears this about the time, and then he says:

"Lend me a horse and buggy," he says. "I must be in New York in person in the morning. No one else will do but me," he says, and as he speaks these words he looks at Miss Beulah Beauregard and then at Little Alfie as if he is speaking to them personally, although up to this time he does not look at either of them after he comes into the kitchen.

"Why, neighbor," Miss Beulah Beauregard's papa says, "we do not keep a buggy, and even if we do keep a buggy we do not have time to hitch up anything to a buggy. Neighbor," he says, "you are certainly on a bust if you think you can catch the Orange Blossom now."

"Well, then," Mr. Paul D. Veere says, very sorrowful, "I will have to go to jail."

Then he flops himself down in a chair and covers his face with his hands, and he is a spectacle such as is bound to touch almost any heart, and when she sees him in this state Miss Beulah Beauregard begins crying because she hates to see anybody as sorrowed up as Mr. Paul D. Veere, and between sobs she asks Little Alfie to think of something to do about the situation.

"Let Mr. Paul D. Veere ride Governor Hicks to the station," Miss Beauregard says. "After all," she says, "I cannot forget his courtesy in sending me halfway here in his car from his shooting lodge after I pop him with the pot of cold cream, instead of making me walk as those Vale guys do the time they red-light me."

"Why," Little Alfie says, "it is a mile and a quarter from the gate out here to the station. I know," he says, "because I get a guy in an automobile to clock it on his meter one day last week, figuring to give Last Hope a workout over the full Derby route pretty soon. The road must be fetlock deep in mud at this time, and," Little Alfie says, "Governor Hicks cannot as much as stand up in the mud. The only horse in the world that can run fast enough through this mud to make the Orange Blossom is Last Hope, but," Little Alfie says, "of course I'm not letting anybody ride a horse as valuable as Last Hope to catch trains."

Well, at this Mr. Paul D. Veere lifts his head and looks at Little Alfie with great interest and speaks as follows:

"How much is this valuable horse worth?" Mr. Paul D. Veere says.

"Why," Little Alfie says, "he is worth anyway fifty G's to me, because," he says, "this is the sum Colonel Winn is giving to the winner of the Kentucky Derby, and there is no doubt whatever that Last Hope will be this winner, especially," Little Alfie says, "if it comes up mud."

"I do not carry any such large sum of money as you mention on my person," Mr. Paul D. Veere says, "but," he says, "if you are willing to trust me, I will give you my IOU for same, just to let me ride your horse to the station. I am once the best amateur steeplechase rider in the Hunts Club," Mr. Paul D. Veere says, "and if your horse can run at all there is still a chance for me to keep out of jail."

Well, the chances are Little Alfie will by no means consider extending a loan of credit for fifty G's to Mr. Paul D. Veere or any other banker, and especially a banker who is once an amateur steeplechase jock, because if there is one thing Little Alfie does not trust it is an amateur steeplechase jock, and furthermore Little Alfie is somewhat offended because Mr. Paul D. Veere seems to think he is running a livery stable.

But Miss Beulah Beauregard is now crying so loud nobody can scarcely hear themselves think, and Little Alfie gets to figuring what she may say to him if he does not rent Last Hope to Mr. Paul D. Veere at this time and it comes out later that Last Hope does not happen to win the Kentucky Derby after all. So he finally says all right, and Mr. Paul D. Veere at once outs with a little gold pencil and a notebook, and scribbles off a marker for fifty G's to Little Alfie.

And the next thing anybody knows, Little Alfie is leading Last Hope out of the barn and up to the gate with nothing on him but a bridle as Little Alfie does not wish to waste time saddling, and as he is boosting Mr. Paul D. Veere onto Last Hope Little Alfie speaks as follows:

"You have three minutes left," Little Alfie says. "It is almost a straight course, except for a long turn going into the last quarter. Let this fellow run," he says. "You will find plenty of mud all the way, but," Little Alfie says, "this is a mud-running fool. In fact," Little Alfie says, "you are pretty lucky it comes up mud."

Then he gives Last Hope a smack on the hip and away goes Last

Hope lickity-split through the mud and anybody can see from the way Mr. Paul D. Veere is sitting on him that Mr. Paul D. Veere knows what time it is when it comes to riding. In fact, Little Alfie himself says he never seen a better seat anywhere in his life, especially for a guy who is riding bareback.

Well, Little Alfie watches them go down the road in a gob of mud, and it will always be one of the large regrets of Little Alfie's life that he leaves his split-second super in hock in Miami, because he says he is sure Last Hope runs the first quarter through the mud faster than any quarter is ever run before in this world. But of course Little Alfie is more excited than somewhat at this moment, and the chances are he exaggerates Last Hope's speed.

However, there is no doubt that Last Hope goes over the road very rapidly, indeed, as a colored party who is out squirrel hunting comes along a few minutes afterward and tells Little Alfie that something goes past him on the road so fast he cannot tell exactly what it is, but he states that he is pretty sure it is old Henry Devil himself, because he smells smoke as it passes him, and hears a voice yelling hi-yah. But of course the chances are this voice is nothing but the voice of Mr. Paul D. Veere yelling words of encouragement to Last Hope.

It is not until the stationmaster at Tillinghast, a guy by the name of Asbury Potts, drives over to Miss Beulah Beauregard's ancestral home an hour later that Little Alfie hears that as Last Hope pulls up at the station and Mr. Paul D. Veere dismounts with so much mud on him that nobody can tell if he is a plaster cast or what, the horse is gimping as bad as Mr. Paul D. Veere himself, and Asbury Potts says there is no doubt Last Hope bows a tendon, or some such, and that if they are able to get him to the races again he will eat his old wool hat.

"But, personally," Asbury Potts says as he mentions this sad news, "I do not see what Mr. Paul D. Veere's hurry is, at that, to be pushing a horse so hard. He has fifty-seven seconds left by my watch when the Orange Blossom pulls in right on time to the dot," Asbury Potts says.