rters.

The negroes, young and old, about the place, indeed, were wild with
their enthusiasm for the mare. The day before the race a delegation of
them, full of eagerness, met Neb as he came out of the stable.

"Say, Unc Neb," said one of them, "we-all's made a pool."

"Pool on de races?"

"Uh-huh! An' we-all wants to know jes' what we ought to put ouah money
on."

They well knew what he would say.

"Queen Bess, fo' suah," he answered, to their vast delight. "Queen Bess
ebery time. She's fit to run fo' huh life."

The boys accepted the suggestion with a shout, and he was about to enter
into one of the long dissertations on the strong points of his equine
darling, when he was informed that some stranger was approaching. He
peered down the road with his old eyes, but could not recognize the
visitor.

"Who is it?" he asked one of the black lads.

"Marse Holton."

"Marse Holton!" he repeated dryly. "Run along, now, honiest. Unc' Neb
gwine be busy. I won't hab dat ar Marse Holton pryin' round dat mare.
Hoodoo her fo' suah." He sidled to the stable door, and, careful to see
that his bent body hid the operation from the coming visitor, turned the
key in the big lock. The key he then slipped into his capacious trousers
pocket.

"Hello, Neb," said Holton, affably, as he came up.

"Ebenin', suh." Neb added nothing to this greeting and went
nonchalantly to a distant bench to sit down on it carelessly.

"I say, Neb," said Holton, "I expect to do a little betting, so I
thought I'd jest drop over and take a look at Layson's mare."

Neb sat immovable upon his bench. At first, indeed, he did not even
speak, but, finally, he looked at Holton calmly, took the key out of his
pocket, tossed it in the air, caught it as it came down, put it back
into his pocket and dryly said: "T'ink not, suh."

Holton, paying no attention to him, had gone on to the stable-door and
tried it. Finding it to be fast locked, he turned back toward the
darkey. "The door's locked, Neb," he said.

"Knowed dat afore, suh," Neb replied.

Holton was nettled by his nonchalance. "Open that door!" he ordered.

"Not widout Marse Holton's ohduhs, suh," Neb answered calmly.

"What do you mean?" demanded Holton, angrily.

"Jus' what I say, suh."

Holton made a slightly threatening movement toward him, but Neb did not
even wink.

"Don't git riled, suh--bad fo' de livuh, suh."

Holton, now, was very angry. "Look here," he said, advancing on the age