"Come on in, Mr. Sanford," he invited. "Why _you_ win the derby once, didn't you?"
"Thank you, suh. Yes, suh, many yeahs ago," said the little old man, and removing his battered hat he entered the stall, his white head bare.
Mrs. Dillon's face as she, too, entered the stall was tear-wet and alight with a great tenderness.
A boy dodged his way to where we stood. His face and the front of his blue and gold jacket were encrusted with dirt.
"You shoe-maker!" was Blister's scornful greeting.
"Honest to Gawd it wasn't my fault, Judge," the boy piped, sniffling. "Honest to Gawd it wasn't! That sour-headed bay stud of Henderson's swung his ugly butt under the mare's nose, 'n' just as I'm takin' back so the dog won't kick a leg off her, that mutt of a starter lets 'em go!"
"All right, sonny," said the judge. "You rode a nice race when you did get away."
"Much obliged, sir. I just wanted to tell you," said the boy, and he disappeared in the crowd as Judge Dillon joined those in the stall.
I stayed outside watching the group about Très Jolie, and never had my heart gone out to people more. Deeply I wished to keep them in my life. . . I wondered if we would ever meet again. But pshaw!--I was nothing to them. Well, I would go back to Cincinnati when they left in the morning. . . .
"Can't we have you for a week at Thistle Ridge?" Mrs. Dillon stood looking up at me.
"The north pasture is a _wilderness_ this year, the _loaf of bread, the jug of wine_ and the _bough_ are waiting. You can, of course, furnish your own _verses_."
"The picture is almost perfect," I said, and glanced at Miss Goodloe.
"As a _thou_--I always strive to please," drawled that blue-eyed young person. Oh, that I had been warned by her words!
Our purring flight to Louisville, when the day was done, became a triumph that mocked the dead Caesars. Of this the old negro on the front seat missed little. He was singing, softly singing. And leaning forward I listened.
"Curry a mule an' curry a hoss, Keep down trubbul wid de stable boss!"
"Do you happen to notice a old duck that comes to the stalls at Loueyville just after the derby?" asked Blister.
"Was his name Sanford, and did he wish to pat the mare?" I asked in turn.
"That's him," said Blister. "Ole man Sanford. It ain't likely you ever heard of him, but everybody on the track knows him, if they ever hit the Loueyville meetin'. They never charge him nothin' to get into the gates. He ain't a owner no more, but way back there before I'm alive he wins the Kentucky Derby with Sweet Alice, 'n' from what I hears she was a grand mare. Ole man Sanford breeds Sweet Alice hisself. In them days he's got a big place not far from Loueyville. They tell me his folks get the land original from the govament, when it's nothin' but timber. I hears once, but it don't hardly sound reasonable, that they hands over a half a million acres to the first ole man Sanford, who was a grandaddy of this ole man Sanford. If that's so, Uncle Sam was more of a sport in them days than since.