"Ah, I understand; Mr. Barnum originated the idea, I believe. It is a most excellent one; I can think of none better, unless the young ladies of the church should enter into a similar friendly contest; but I am sure, young ladies, that when all the organizations you have so kindly planned are in successful operation, our church must be a prosperous one;" and Mr. Dashwell shrewdly directed the conversation into other channels, so that his friend Joe might have a wider field for the exercise of his powers of criticism. "Well, Joe," said Mr. Dashwell, after the ladies had left the parsonage, "what is the verdict?" "Jim," said Rev. Mr. Newman, "an affair of this sort is so much a matter of taste I hardly know what advice to give. I must say, as a disinterested witness and a friend, that I cannot consider the old elder's daughter a rival of the old minister's, personally. You must judge, however, for yourself, old boy. It is the old question, 'Love versus gold.' A troubled look spread itself over the countenance of Rev. Mr. Dashwell. He studied the burning coals in the grate for a few moments in silence, then turned to his old chum, and said: "Joe, I give you credit for sincerity, and I thank you just as much as if you had brought in a verdict, not guilty.' CHAPTER VIII. It was one of the Rev. Mr. Dashwell's pet theories that the church must be brought in contact with the world, that the world might thereby be made better. He considered it rather an antiquated idea that the church should expect the world to come to itself. He believed in going out into the highways and hedges of modern times and coaxing if not compelling loiterers to come in, that the church pews might be filled. He was accordingly acting in entire consistency with his proposed methods of evangelization when he, as a representative of the church, made himself quite at home in hotel-corridors, clubs, gymnasiums, and sporting circles generally, the modern hedges and highways, according to his interpretation of the Scriptures. Just out of Hampton was a race-course, where, at the invitation of certain members of the jockeyclub, his friends, he would go with his trotter and avail himself of the privileges of the track by taking a few turns as a test of speed. He was always welcomed with great enthusiasm by the habitues of the track. They were much pleased that an aroma of sanctity should thus be diffused over a place which some of the pastors of Hampton churches did not hesitate to assert was odorous with the fumes of sulphur direct from the pit. Mr. Dashwell believed, however, that the command to abjure "the world, the flesh, and the devil" could have no application to the fullblooded horseflesh of the present day; while the Satanic Majesty, as represented on the Hampton course, was so exceedingly respectful and polite to himself, as personifying the church, that he doubted the identity of that being with the devil of ancient times. So cordial indeed was his reception by the sporting fraternity that he began to speculate somewhat upon an addition to the number of pewholders from the ranks of his new admirers and friends. It was in fulfillment of such a self-imposed mission to the Gentiles, that one breezy April afternoon he was found, as often he had lately been, behind his spirited horse in his two-wheeled sulky raising the dust on the Hampton course. He had made several turns, and reined up for a breathingspell in front of the grand stand. There were collected a number of the loungers of the place, and others who like himself had been drawn out to the course to train their horses by trials of speed, as was the custom on almost every pleasant afternoon. Among the rest was a noted jockey, Sam McBride by name. His reputation for honesty and fair-dealing was none of the best. He was one of those who depended for his daily bread upon his skill in extracting money from the pockets of others less shrewd than himself who came within his reach. All who ventured upon the course he considered his legitimate prey, and from each one he expected to derive a certain quota for his own support. Whether this came in the form of medical fees in return for veterinary skill, of bets lost by his opponent and won by himself, of gifts direct, or in any other way, was immaterial to Sam so long as his claims were recognized and duly honored in the end. If they were not so in due time, Sam would become restive and hostile, and then, woe to the individual who was the object of his animosity! il luck was sure to overtake him in some form or other. So thoroughly was this fact established that it seemed one of the well-known, unwritten rules of the track to be sure and keep on the right side of Sam the jockey. As Mr. Dashwell had now been quite frequently seen upon the track, Sam began to feel that the revenue due to himself might naturally soon be expected from the minister. With this thought upon his mind he approached the young divine, who had reined up in front of the grand stand with a face glowing with the exhilaration of his ride and wearing a smile of satisfaction at the esteem in which both he and his handsome horse seemed to be held. "Parson," said Sam, "you have a fine nag there. What is the fastest time he has ever made?" "About two-thirty," said Mr. Dashwell. "Good time; capital," said Sam. "Now, I Now, I have a horse that has made about that time. I would like to give you a brush." "All right; I'm ready," good-naturedly said Mr. Dashwell, pleased with the request; for although he knew but little of Sam or his character, yet he argued within himself that just in proportion that he, a representative of the church, meeting the horse-jockeys on their own ground, should gain their respect by the superior speed of his horseflesh, in that proportion would the church itself become respected and honored through him. Although he now felt quite at home upon the track, yet he had never before made the circuit in a contest with a competitor. A little of the old nervous feeling which used to make his heart beat quickly as he was about to enter upon a prize declamation in college came over him now; but he trusted to his native talent and ingenuity to carry him through where his inexperience gave his antagonist the advantage. The trial was to consist of two circuits of the half-mile course, one mile in all. Judges were selected, and Mr. Dashwell in his light sulky behind his sleek bay, his legs firmly braced, a rein gathered up in either hand, in a scientific style even in the eye of an experienced jockey, was ready for the start. Sam was promptly by his side in a four-wheeled skeleton wagon drawn by a powerful black horse. How he had an eye to business, and how he proposed an ultimate pecuniary advantage to himself by the present friendly contest, is yet to appear. The idea of a match between the popular young minister and the veteran jockey and sinner Sam, was, however, a novel one; and the report of it spread rapidly, and speedily attracted a crowd. At the first start the heads of the two horses as they passed the judges' stand were so nearly even that the word "Go!" was given; and away they went. For the first quarter it would seem that neither had the advantage. Mr. Dashwell had the inside track. He braced himself firmly to his work, not using the whip, but trusting to a steady rein and an encouraging chirrup to get from his horse his utmost speed without a break. Sam, on the contrary, shouted wildly and used his whip freely. At the end of the first quarter on the opposite side of the course Mr. Dashwell began to take the lead. The crowd watching the race were becoming excited. "The parson's ahead! the parson's ahead!" was the shout; "Sam had better hurry up, or he will come in second best." Bets of two to one were offered on the parson, and no takers. “Now Sam gains a little!" was the cry, and a few bets were taken. They passed the stand on the first circuit with both horses apparently doing their best. Mr. Dashwell's handsome face was flushed with excitement; he held a tight and steady rein, leaning far forward, while his light linen duster stood straight out behind from his clerical shoulders, looking, as some in the crowd were irreverent enough to say, not unlike a pair of wings. He had the inside track, and was hugging it closely. Sam was shouting, apparently in great excitement, but as they passed the stand the nose of his black horse was hardly even with the end of the minister's light duster. The crowd became wild with excitement, and yelled, "Hurrah for the parson! three to one on the parson!" As they passed the third quarter there was quite a length between the wheels of Mr. Dashwell's sulky and the head of Sam's horse, and when they passed the stand on the home stretch at least two lengths intervened. They pulled up, turned, and drove slowly back to the judges' stand. It was a new experience for Mr. Dashwell, and his cheeks showed how fully he appreciated the excitement and gratification of success. Sam professed to be quite down-hearted and disconcerted with his defeat. There were those in the crowd, however, who were acquainted thoroughly with his tactics, who said: "Sam did not let his horse out, while the min ister did his very best. Sam is laying for the par- ting up a little money? It only adds to the exson, see if he isn't." "Dominie," said Sam, drawing up by Mr. Dashwell's side, "that bay of yours is a stunner; he's faster than I thought. Still, I would like to try that over again, though I expect you will beat me." "All right; I'll give you another chance as soon as my horse has had time to blow a little," said Mr. Dashwell, who felt that the increased respect in which he was held since his victory had already added new dignity to the church which he represented. "Well, parson, now suppose, just to make it a little more lively, we put up a hundred or so this time? I don't like to trouble you for nothing, parson; so I will bet you a hundred dollars on the next race, though I suppose, judging from the last, I shall lose it," said Sam, with a lugubrious look. . Here was a new phase in Mr. Dashwell's worldly experience which he had not foreseen, and for which he was hardly prepared. He began to perceive that the advance of the church toward the world must cease at some point, and that the nearer the approach the more difficult might become the halt when such should be necessary. He saw that such a point had been reached in his own experience, and that any further advance or concession on his own part must be summarily checked. Even if no higher motives had influenced him, a thought of the grim-visaged session of the First Presbyterian Church would have decided his course. It was no easy task now, in the midst of his honors and successes among his new worshippers, to crush his popularity at a single blow. It was to be done, nevertheless. "Sam," said he, "I will give you another trial if you like, but without stakes; I don't bet." "Don't bet! Why, now what's the harm?" said Sam, with a much more dissatisfied expression than even his defeat had produced. His somewhat blunted moral perception did not comprehend the nice distinctions so evident to the mind of the minister. citement, you know," said Sam, who really believed that the minister's unwillingness arose from a suspicion of his own tactics and from a fear of loss. "It is a game of chance, and for this reason it is wrong," said the minister, blushing slightly and feeling decidedly uncomfortable; for he saw from the expression of his listeners that their sympathies were not with himself. "Whew-w-w!" whistled Sam, "a game of chance! Why, parson, don't you know that they have games of chance at church fairs to raise money for good Christian people like yourself," he said; for, like many of Satan's emissaries, he was more minutely acquainted with the weak places in Zion's walls than would have been anticipated from his lack of education in other respects. "Its only two weeks since my little girl, Moll, lost a dollar raffling for a doll at a church fair. I told her she'd lose it before she put it up, because there's no show for outsiders at such places; they keep it all among their own set, and sure enough, the minister's daughter won the doll. Now, parson, what's the difference between a game of chance in a church and on a race-course?" and with a look of anger not unmixed with contempt, Sam turned and drove away to his cronies without waiting for an answer to his puzzling question. He felt himself poorer to the extent of a hundred dollars which he had hoped to extract from the minister's purse, and he immediately began to plan some way of getting "square" with the parson for his assumed loss. He had no sympathy for conscientious scruples which he could not understand, and but little faith in their sincerity. He alighted from his wagon, and circulated among his friends. "That parson is a good man, a very good man," said he, with a vicious wink; "but he don't bet; he says its principle; but I call it paralysis, paralysis here," and Sam slapped his own rather attenuated pocket-book. It was several days before Mr. Dashwell felt entirely comfortable in renewing his visit to the course. It happened that when he did so, Sam was also there, at this time appearing slightly intoxicated. That individual had meditated much over the parson's scruples against betting, and the more he did so the more dissatisfied he became. He convinced himself by certain arguments of his "But, parson, now what is there wrong in put- own, that if the minister visited the course as a "Because I never do; I consider it wrong," said Mr. Dashwell, with more of an effort than he had supposed it would require to make such a declaration, while his countenance lost the look of enjoyment it had so lately worn. guest, he should conform to the established rules and customs of the track, betting not excepted. Sam was ready to admit that the race-course naturally belonged to the kingdom of Satan, and such being the case, those who were unwilling to acknowledge his Satanic Majesty had no right to frequent the place. He did not believe in the propriety of coquetting with the devil so long as it might be entirely agreeable to do so, and then suddenly lifting up the heel against him in his own. dominions. Accordingly he thought as Mr. Dashwell could afford no pecuniary advantage to the rightful patrons of a race-course by his presence there, a becoming sense of propriety should induce him to keep away altogether from a place he could not conscientiously support. Accordingly Sam resolved, upon the first convenient opportunity, to impress this conviction of his own upon the mind of the sporting clergyman. The method used to accomplish this end will now be explained. "Hello, parson!" said Sam, as he met Mr. Dashwell; "ready for another brush to-day?" "Ready for a trial of speed at any time, but without stakes," said the minister. did so. An unusual pressure was brought upon the rein next Mr. Dashwell's, his heavy hub was brought in contact with the light wheel of the sulky, there was the sound of snapping spokes, and in an instant, as Sam afterward expressed it, the handsome minister went flying through the air like an angel without wings. He landed upon the dry and hardened turf, was taken up insensible, and borne by the employés of the track through the streets of Hampton to the parsonage. CHAPTER IX. THE REV. Mr. Dashwell saw just before him the grand stand not a hundred yards distant as he was making the home stretch on the last quarter. He heard just behind him the shouts and the cracking of the whip of Sam McBride the jockey. A few seconds more, and if his horse held out as well as he was then doing, the race would be his own. Now the nose of Sam's horse is close by his side, now it is even with his dashboard, a resounding yell and a crack of the whip and it is even with the collar of his own animal; another crack, and Sam's red and excited face is by his side, and his wheels are "All right; without stakes," said Sam, with a spinning around almost in contact with his own. malicious grin upon his flushed face. Again were the preliminaries for the trial arranged, Mr. Dashwell good-naturedly consenting to the arrangement rather to show his cordial feeling toward Sam than for any interest in a new contest. The start was made, and Sam, with his powerful horse and strong wagon, closely hugged the light sulky of the minister, who this time had the outside track. Mr. Dashwell held a steady rein as usual, while Sam shouted and slashed his horse, steering wildly, and at times crowding his competitor to the very outside of the course. "Sam is too drunk to drive to-day; he'll be under the wheels unless he is more careful," said one of his friends. "He's not so drunk as he seems; he knows what he is about," said another one of his more intimate cronies. The two kept side by side on the first circuit, and passed the stand almost abreast. Indeed, Sam's aim seemed at first to be only to keep even with the minister. On the second circuit he seemed to be driving more wildly than ever, crowding Mr. Dashwell to the outside limit of the track. On his last quarter he gave his horse a sudden cut with his whip, reeling in his seat as he Fifty yards more, thought Mr. Dashwell, and even yet all will be well. He saw the eager faces of the spectators just ahead, he heard the yells of Sam almost in his ear. Suddenly the faces of the spectators seemed like the moving sea, they numbered thousands of thousands; the grand stand itself was no longer stationary, but was making a revolution in the air; faces and building were strangely commingled, and flying in all directions. His ears were filled with yells and shouts and cracks of whips innumerable. Hundreds and hundreds of faces of Sam were flying before his eyes as if on cherubs' wings; some red, some black, some yellow, and some a dazzling white, as if covered with phosphorus. He heard thundering, he saw lightning. He saw the judges' stand, toward which his horse was straining, receding from him in the distance, and passing from his view entirely when he thought that he was almost there. He heard music, delightful at times and again harshly discordant. He saw before him his congregation filling their accustomed seats in church; but the pews were surging, and tossing, and curveting like yachts on the waves. He saw the walls of his old room in the seminary. They were quivering as with an earthquake. The ceiling was cracking and about to fall; it did fall, and directly upon The voice was that of Dr. Toogood, one of his parishioners and a prominent surgeon of the place. He was standing by the side of a bed and looking down upon its occupant. Mr. Dashwell slowly began to comprehend the fact that the occupant was no other than himself, and that around him were the walls of his own room in the parsonage. These walls he soon perceived were entirely stationary, and the ceiling above was intact. "Dr. Toogood, I believe," said Mr. Dashwell, when he began to realize his surroundings. "The same," said Dr. Toogood, with a bow; 'and you are the Rev. Mr. Dashwell." "So I conclude," said that individual; "but I can hardly explain my present position. May I ask you, doctor, what it means? Am I dreaming, or have I been sick, and dosed with allopathic medicine? What is that horrid smell from my breath ?" "That's the ether," said Dr. Toogood. "Ether!" said Mr. Dash well, in surprise, attempting to rise and feeling a twinge in the leg just below the knee. afternoon's experience with Sam the jockey. He would have preferred, for the sake of the strictly orthodox members of his session and congregation, that the accident had happened elsewhere than upon a race-course. He still had faith in the plan of bringing the church in contact with the world; but he feared such a collision between a clergyman and a horse jockey might be regarded as bringing the two in rather too close proximity. He feared a vacant pulpit from such a cause as the present accident would furnish might be the occasion of some unpleasant comments. "Well, doctor," said the minister, after these thoughts had passed through his mind, "I'm your prisoner; impose your commands, and I shall be obliged to obey, I suppose." "Yes," said Dr. Toogood; "for the present, medicine has the best of theology. My orders are that you shall be kept strictly quiet for the next three or four weeks, and as you may not rest very well to-night, I will prescribe an anodyne;" and Dr. Toogood took his pencil and wrote some hieroglyphics on a prescription paper. "There, take a teaspoonful of that once in two hours until you are asleep." "Excuse me, doctor," said Mr. Dashwell; "but is that allopathic medicine?" "If you mean by allopathic medicine that which will produce the desired effect, it is such," said "Quiet, quiet," said Dr. Toogood, gently plac- Dr. Toogood, with considerable promptness. ing his hand upon the minister's shoulder. "Won't you explain the meaning of all this, and tell me who that stranger is at the foot of the bed ?" "That is Mr. Tompkins, the nurse from the hospital, who will be obliged to keep you a prisoner for a few weeks; so you had better make the best terms possible with him to secure gentle treatment. Your leg has been broken, Mr. Dashwell." "Where ?" said Mr. Dashwell, in surprise. "The right leg below the knee," said Dr. Toogood, professionally. "I beg your pardon, doctor," said Mr. Dashwell; "but I am a strict homeopathist. you allow my medical treatment to be such? I have at hand a case of homeopathic medicines which I use in any little illness to which I may be subject, and I find it answers perfectly well. May I not select the anodyne from them?" 'Certainly, certainly," said Dr. Toogood; "I was about to prescribe an opiate. Suppose now you should make use of a few pilule of opium from your little bottle marked with the name of that drug. If your medicine is all that you be "But where did it happen, and how?" asked lieve it to be, you will have a delightful night's Mr. Dashwell. "On the race-course, from a collision with the wagon of your competitor, by which you were thrown to the ground; but the fracture is reduced, and all that is needed will be quiet for a few weeks." Mr. Dashwell gave a groan of dissatisfaction rather than of pain. He began to recall his VOL. XIII.-23 rest. "How many shall I take, doctor?" "Take two or three, and if they are not sufficient take two or three hundred, take a thousand, they can't hurt you," said Dr. Toogood, with a slight twinkle in the corner of his eye. The next morning he called. "How did you sleep, dominie?" he asked. |