"But Dashaway, he c'yarn run much, sah, 'thout blowin', an'—an'—"
"Zounds, sirrah, do you mean to instruct me about my own horse? Now listen you young imp. Use the whip moderately, Dashaway comes of stock that won't stand whip and spur. If he runs away, just give him his head, and if you don't remember every word I tell you, by the Lord Harry, I'll make you dance by the time you are out of the saddle!"
"Good Gord A'mighty, marster," puts in Petrarch. "Dashaway, he ain' never gwi' run away. He too ole, an' he ain't strong 'nuff—"
"Good Gad, sir, was ever a man so tormented by such a set of black rascals? Hold your tongue—don't let me hear another word from you, not another word, sir."
The jockey, who takes the Colonel's words at their full value, which Petrarch discounts liberally, begins to stutter with fright.
"M—m—marster, ef I jes' kin git Dashaway 'long wid de res'—"
"Silence, sir," shouts the Colonel, "and remember every word I tell you, or" Colonel Berkeley's appalling countenance and uplifted cane complete the rest.
Dashaway is not only conspicuously the worst of the lot, but the most troublesome. Half a dozen good starts might be made but for Dashaway. At last the flag drops. "Go!" yells the starter, and the horses are off. Dashaway takes his place
