W. A. Fraser

“ You can trust the man, Dodson, who looks after Gun Metal; and, if you like, I'll see him quietly, and tell him to watch the horse. And he can be told that if the trainer acts too suspiciously—insists on anything crooked, that he is to make a stand, tell Chester plainly what he knows, and that he'll get into trouble. ”

“ As Leigh moved away, Dodson followed. His mummy face was drawn into wrinkled lines of gravity, as he said: “A dreadful thing has happened, sir; Little Jack's sick, an' they got to scratch him. That swine, Chester, is swearin' that somebody got at his hoss. Say, he's takin' a chance! An' he knocked hell's delight outen the nigger as give Little Jack the ball. He thinks the nigger made a mistake an' got into the wrong box; the nigger thinks so, too, that's the best of it. But Gun Metal's all right; he's as bright's a pea—there won't nothin' beat him to-day; he's fit to run the race of his life.” ”

“ Their riders are driving; the horses, warm to the strife, stretch their necks, flatten to the ground, and now at the huge wall together they gather their loins for the lift.
The soft earth gives from under the push of Rollo's hoofs; he sways, he strikes—down, his neck drawn to an arch, he goes, and King Cole, half a length behind, crashes into the gray. ”

“ Little Jack's scratched, an' my boy's got first call for the mount; he's carded to ride the horse, see? So you'd better trot back to the stand, like a good little man, and watch the race. That's the place for amateur jocks—I ain't got no use for gentlemen riders; professionals are crooked enough, but when swells are up the books don't bet, see?””
“I've just come from Mrs. Van Zandt—she expects me to ride Gun Metal, and I'm going to do so,” Leigh answered, in a determined tone. ”

“ I'll give vou a good thing for Morris Park; you can bet your sleeve-links on it, and if it don't win, you just write on your cuff that Hank Dodson is a chink. We got a horse in our stable named Gun Metal—write that down, mister, for its solid mahogany, Gun Metal. He's by Artillery, out of Steel Blue, and he's the best steeplechaser I ever clapped eyes on. He can just fly his jumps, and gallop a mile in one-forty flat. ”

“ Well, I didn't want to have no row with the boss; an' I wasn't supposed to be sleeping in Gun Metal's stall—see? I didn't know Little Jack was going to start to-day, an' I figured that they meant to give Gun Metal the dope in the night, close to mornin', to see how it would act. I'm goin' to skip back to the stall now; I don't believe the boss has caught on yet that he's give the wrong horse a sleepin' draft. I'll stay by Gun Metal, an' if they try any more hanky-panky I'll jus' call 'em down good an' hard. You can gamble on gettin' the old horse in the paddock sound as a bell. ”

“ Perhaps if fate had not presented Leigh with a desire for the theater that evening, Gun Metal and the vicissitudes of his career might have troubled him no more.
We eat, sleep, and out of ourselves perform little acts, and all the time the other thing that has no name puts our hand and our mind to that which is, or is to be. So Leigh, with the entanglement of this It enmeshing him, looked up from his seat in the stalls and saw Kathleen Braund in an upper box. ”

“ Van Zandt. She was waiting for him, evidently. “What is this about last night?” she asked. “That man Dodson says there was something unusual, but says I'm to ask you. He says Gun Metal is all right—is he?”
They walked over to where Dodson was stripping the horse of his clothing under a tree, Leigh saying, as they walked: “I'll tell you about it after the race—it would only worry you, and Dodson kept the horse free from harm. Look at his eye,” he continued, as they stood beside Gun Metal; “he is as healthy as a babe—he's as cool and bright.” ”

“ But the boss he's a crook from way-back, an' here's some hanky-panky on with Gun Metal. There's another duck got a horse in the stable named Little Jack. This chap keeps it dark about ownin' this horse, but I'm on, see? They'll just about win with the one that gets 'em the goods. If you're out to the races, come an' ask me—I'll put you wise to what's doin'. Forty-second Street! I got to skip. Don't forget Gun Metal! I'll send this fiver{{bar|2}”
But the little man was gone, using the saddle as a battering-ram to clear a passage to the platform. ”

“ They look a heap alike in the day, let alone in the night. Then I guess I must have fell asleep with Gun Metal in No. 8. About four o'clock in the mornin' somebody woke me, makin' a noise openin' the door of the box in which I had put Little Jack. I reckon the nigger had the boss' key, for the boxes was locked up, and I had the stable key. Just about daylight I swaps the hosses back ag'in; an', say! if Little Jack ain't dopey this mornin' call me a Dutchman. ”