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Updated: July 3, 2025
Blinky Bill had a half-share in all the bookies' winnings, so he chuckled grimly as he went to the rails to watch the race. They're off. And what is this that flashes to the front, while the howls of the bookies rise like the yelping of fiends in torment? It is Dodger Smith on Tin Can, and from the grandstand there is a shrill feminine yell of triumph as the gallant pony sails past the post.
Along about the seventh inning, the game waxed particularly exciting we were beside ourselves with enthusiasm. Fellow onlookers seemed even more excited they called out things they seemed to be calling in our direction. Fine parents we were there was Nandy, go-cart and all, bumpety-bumping down the grandstand steps. I remember again the Stadium on the day of the big track meet.
Only once did he raise his eyes from looking straight ahead between the ears of his noble horse, and that was when he was passing the grandstand. Then he gave a swift look in that direction, and was repaid by seeing a young girl of some sixteen years of age, Stella Nebeker by name, dressed in a pure white muslin gown with short sleeves, waving a delicate handkerchief toward him.
It was down that way that it overflowed mostly and flooded the fields we had been plodding through. "One thing, we had a grandstand view," I said. And believe me, that was true. The water just came pouring and rushing between those mountains, and sometimes we could see trees, and things we thought might be parts of houses coming along. One big white thing we saw, and we knew it was a tent.
We all run up in front of the grandstand, and stood lookin' up at Pinto, and him the maddest, scaredest, cross-eyedest horse I ever did see in all my life. His single blinder was swingin' loose under his neck. His eyes was right mean and white, and the Mexican saints only knows which way he was a-lookin'.
"That is Saint Paul all right," answered Loring with a smile, as he glanced up at the prim and precise Gresham, who had now succeeded in fencing Miss Joy in a corner, away from the other young men. "Thanks," said the colonel, and walked away abstractedly, his eyes still turning in the direction of the box, although he did not even start to go up into the grandstand.
In the midst of cheering thousands, when riding at the blinding speed of ninety-two miles an hour, the motorcycle of one of the contestants went wrong. It climbed the twenty-eight-foot incline, hurled its rider to instant death and crashed into the packed grandstand.
Jack, Andy, Hogan, and Bart Conners were in their usual places. "And I want you, too, Pepper," said Dale. "Oh, I can go on the sub-bench," was the answer, for Pepper did not care very much for football. "Give Fred Century and Bert Field a chance." "I know what Pepper wants," said Andy. "He wants us to play, while he sits in the grandstand, having a good time with the girls."
"I always put in a yoke when it gets along toward fall. My lungs is delicate. And anyway, I see by the papers yesterday that collarless gowns is slightly passay f'r winter." This is not a baseball story. The grandstand does not rise as one man and shout itself hoarse with joy. There isn't a three-bagger in the entire three thousand words, and nobody is carried home on the shoulders of the crowd.
"No," persisted Arnold. "Now I've thought of it, I mean fish, a great big, wise old fellow, who lives in a deep pool and won't rise to any ordinary fly." He made a brain-jolting change of metaphor and went on: "The plain truth, and it's not so low-down as it seems, is that a big fat check-book is admission to the grandstand with Felix. It has to be that way!
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