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Two of the boys were deftly scraping Montravers's sides, while the third sponged his mouth and legs. Then the youthful band fell to with rubbing-cloths, backed by terrible energy, on the body of the big horse.

"The fathers of this village all have to be helped," said Mr. Smead; "they're so busy with one thing or another, mostly another. Ye can't be a Dan'l Webster an' do anything else."

This matter of "helpin' father" seemed to me to be rather arduous. As the horse grew dry the boys grew wet. Perspiration had begun to roll down their faces.

"The trottin'-hoss is the natural ally of the orator an' the conversationalist," said Mr. Smead. "He stimulates the mind an' furnishes food for thought. A man who has owned a trotter is capable of any feat of the imagination, an' some of our deepest thinkers have graduated from the grand stand an' the sulky. Everybody goes in for trotters here.

"John Griggs an' Colonel Sile an' Horace Brooks an' Bill Warner, all have their trotters. If a farmer gets some money ahead he buys a trotter an' begins to train for speed an' bankruptcy. It helps him to a sense o' grandeur an' distinction. If there's anything else that can be done with money, he don't know it. His boys look like beggars, an' his hoss looks like a prince; just like mine. I told ye I'd show ye a fool, an' here I am—a direct descendant of Thankful Smead by Remember Baker. But I really have a prize in this animal. I expect to sell him for big money."

Soon we heard the voice of Mrs. Smead at the back door.

"Boys, where are you?" she called.

"Helpin' father," answered Daniel, the eldest of them.

"Well, breakfast is waiting," said she, with a touch of impatience in her tone. "You must be getting ready for school."

"He'll do now," said Smead. "Put on the coolin' sheet an' walk him for ten minutes."

A big, spotless sheet blanket was thrown over the shiny, silken coat of the horse, and Rufus began to walk him up and down the yard while the rest of us went in to breakfast.

There was a pathetic contrast which I did not fail to observe, young as I was, between the silken coat of the beast and the faded calico dress of the woman; between his lustrous, flashing eyes and hers, dull and sad; between his bounding feet and hers, which moved about heavily; between the whole spirit of Montravers and that of Mrs. Smead. I saw, too, the contrast between the splendid trappings of the stallion and the patched trousers of the boys. I wondered how the boys were going to be cooled off. They simply took a hurried wash in a tin basin at the back door and sat down at the table in damp clothes. We could hear timid remarks in the kitchen about a worthless horse, about boys who would be late to school, and the delayed work of the day.

"If that hoss could only keep up with my imagination!" said Smead, mournfully.

"Dan'l, you must take care of the horse yourself in the morning," said Mrs. Smead.

"But my imagination keeps me so busy, mother," said he. "Montravers works it night an' day. It don't give me any sleep, thinkin' o' the wealth that's just ahead of us. It pants with weariness. Almost every night I dream of tossin' a whole basket of gold into my wife's lap an' sayin', 'There, mother, it's yours; do as you like with it.'"

She made no reply. That gold-tossing had revived her hope a little and pacified her for the moment.

Such was a sample day in the life of the Smeads when Dan'l Webster was at home. Every night and morning the boys were helping father by rubbing the legs and body of the stallion. I soon acquired the habit, partly because I admired the splendid animal, partly to help the boys. I had never rubbed a horse's legs before, and it appealed to me as a new form of dissipation.

We were all helping father while the mother worked along from dawn till we had all gone to our beds—all save the head of the house. He spent his evenings reading, or in the company of the horsemen at the Palace Hotel.

I was now deeply interested in my school work. One night I had sat late with my problems in algebra, and lay awake for hours after I went to bed. The clock struck twelve, and still I could hear Mrs. Smead rocking as she sewed downstairs. By and by there were sounds of Mr. Smead entering the front door. Then I heard her say: "Dan'l, you promised me not to do this again. The boys are growing up, and you must set them a better example."

She spoke kindly, but with feeling. "Mother, don't wake me up," he pleaded. "I've enjoyed an evening of great pride an' immeasurable wealth. They've been praisin' my hoss, an' two men from New York are comin' to buy him. I'm a Croesus. For the Lord's sake, lemme go to bed with the money!"

I lay awake thinking what a singular sort of slavery was going on in that house.

What a faithful, weary, plodding creature the slave was! She reminded me of those wonderful words which my mother had asked me and my sister to commit to memory:

"Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest I will lodge: thy people shall be my people and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me and more, also, if aught but death part thee and me."

Thy God shall be my God, indeed, even though He be nothing better than a highbred stallion!

CHAPTER III

IN a way Henry Dunbar was like Texas, whence he had come with his sister Florence to go to school in Griggsby. Colonel Buckstone had often referred to him as "The Lone Star." He was big, warm-hearted, and brave, could turn a hand-spring, and was the best ball-player at the academy. He could also smoke and chew tobacco.

"Have a chew?" he asked, the first day we met.

I confessed with shame that I was not so accomplished.

"If you get sick, take some more," he said. "That's the only way. Everybody chews that is anybody."

It was almost true. Many of the leading men went about with a bulge on one side of their faces. An idea came to me. I would show Henry that I had at least one manly accomplishment. So I conducted him to the Smead stable and began rubbing a leg of Montravers. Henry was impressed; he wanted to try it, and did, and thereby the horse got hold of his imagination also.

Next morning at daylight we went down to the fairground to see Montravers driven. There were other horses at work, and the shouts of the drivers and the swift tattoo of the hoofs quickened our pulses before we could see the track. The scene, so full of life and spirit, thrilled us. It was fine bait for boys and men. In our excitement we thought neither of school nor of breakfast.

By and by the leading citizens began to arrive in handsome runabouts and to take their places on the grand stand.

"That's Colonel Sile Buckstone," Henry whispered.

There was no mistaking the Colonel's bovine head and scarlet blossom. His voice roared a greeting to every newcomer. His son Ralph, our schoolmate, arrived with his father, and joined us down by the wire. Senator Griggs, Judge Warner, and a number of leading merchants had also arrived. These men had what was called a fine "delivery." Most of them sat in broadcloth and silk hats, expectorating with a delivery at once exact and impressive. There was the resounding Websterian tone coupled with a rustic swagger and glibness that could be found in every country village. What vocal and pedestrial splendor was theirs as they rose and strode to the sulky of Montravers, who had finished a trial heat! Much of the splendor had been imported from the capitals by Smithers, Brooks, and Buckstone; but more of it was natural Websterian effulgence.

Mr. Smead was right; the trotter was indeed the friend and ally of the "conversationalist." How well those