Dey's turned into the
stretch an' still see-sawin'. Let him out, Jimmy, let him out! Dat boy
done th'owed de reins away. Come on, Jimmy, come on! He's leadin' by a
nose. Come on, I tell you, you black rapscallion, come on! Give 'em
hell, Jimmy! give 'em hell! Under de wire an' a len'th ahead. Doggone my
cats! wake me up w'en dat othah hoss comes in.

"No, suh, I ain't gwine stay no longah, I don't app'ove o' racin', I's
gwine 'roun' an' see dis hyeah bookmakah an' den I's gwine dreckly home,
suh, dreckly home. I's Baptis' myse'f, an' I don't app'ove o' no sich
doin's!"

_Seven_

A DEFENDER OF THE FAITH

There was a very animated discussion going on, on the lower floor of the
house Number Ten "D" Street. House Number Ten was the middle one of a
row of more frames, which formed what was put down on the real estate
agent's list as a coloured neighbourhood. The inhabitants of the little
cottages were people so poor that they were constantly staggering on the
verge of the abyss, which they had been taught to dread and scorn, and
why, clearly. Life with them was no dream, but a hard, terrible reality,
which meant increasing struggle, and little wonder then that the
children of such parents should see the day before Christmas come
without hope of any holiday cheer.

Christmas; what did it mean to them? The pitiful little dark
rag-muffins, save that the happy, well-dressed people who passed the
shanties seemed further away from their life, save that mother toiled
later in the evening at her work, if there was work, and that father
drank more gin and prayed louder in consequence; save that, perhaps--and
there was always a donation--that there might be a little increase in
the amount of cold victuals that big sister brought home, and there
might be turkey-dressing in it.

But there was a warm discussion in Number Ten, and that is the principal
thing. The next in importance is that Miss Arabella Coe, reporter, who
had been down that way looking mainly for a Christmas story, heard the
sound of voices raised in debate, and paused to listen. It was not a
very polite thing for Miss Coe to do, but then Miss Coe was a reporter
and reporters are not scrupulous about being polite when there is
anything to hear. Besides, the pitch to which the lusty young voices
within were raised argued that the owners did not care if the outside
world shared in the conversation. So Arabella listened, and after a
while she passed through t