orish blood. You know, like the Moorish
chief Cabaon's famous stallion. A Vandal is said to have him now."

"Impossible! No Moor sells such a horse."

"The procession is over; they are moving side by side, to the white
rope. Now!"

"No, not yet. See, each Green and Blue is approaching the hermulae on
the right and left, to which the rope is fastened. Hark! What is
Mercury shouting?"

"The prizes for the victors. Just listen: fifteen thousand sestertii,
the second prize for the team of four; twenty-five thousand the first;
forty thousand for the victorious five-span; and sixty thousand--that's
unprecedented--for the seven."

"Look, how the seven horses harnessed to the green chariot are pawing
the sand! That is Hercules, the charioteer. He has five medals
already."

"But see! His opponent is the Moor Chalches. He wears seven medals.
Look, he is throwing down his whip; he is challenging Hercules to drive
without one, too. But he will not dare."

"Yes; he is tossing the whip on the sand. I'll bet on Hercules! I side
with the Greens!" shouted Victor, excitedly.

"And I with the Blues. It ought--but stop! We--Roman citizens--betting
on the games of our tyrants?"

"Oh, nonsense! you have no courage! Or no money!"

"More than you--of both! How much? Ten sestertii?"

"Twelve!"

"For aught I care. Done!"

"Look, the rope has fallen!"

"Now they are rushing forward!"

"Bravo, Green, at the first meta already--and nearest--past."

"On, Chalches! There, Blue! Forward! Hi! at the second meta Chalches
was nearest."

"Faster, Hercules! Faster, you lazy snail! Keep more to the right--the
right! or--O, Heaven!"

"Yes, Saint Cyprian! Triumph! There lies the proud Green! Flat on his
belly, like a crushed frog! Triumph! The Blue is at the goal. Pay up,
friend! Where is my money?"

"That isn't fair. I won't pay. The Blue intentionally struck the horse
on the left with his pole. That's cheating!"

"What? Do you insult my color? And won't pay either?"

"Not a pebble."

"Indeed? Well, you rascal, I'll pay _you_."

A blow fell; it sounded like a slap on a fat cheek.

"Keep quiet up there, you dwellers in the clouds," shouted Mercury. "It
is nothing, fair bride, except two Roman citizens cuffing each other.
Friend Wandalar, go; turn them out. Both! There! Now on with the games.
Carry the Green out through the Libitinensis. Is he dead? Yes. Go on.
The prizes will be awarded at the end. We are in a hurry. If the Ki