时间：2020-07-07 14:41:40 作者：修罗武神烟火里的尘埃 浏览量：47355
“In not being interested?”
Yes, there was the woman whose voice he had heard.
“‘It ain’t me chargin’, Captain,’ shouted poor Sam, as he pulled away with all his might to keep out of certain death—‘it ain’t me. I ain’t such a fool as that. It’s this damned old mule! Whoa, Baalam, whoa!’
After having gone through the racing season, running from two to four mile heat races every week, the two horses, as they stepped out on the track, looked like two gamecocks made of whalebone and steel. Every muscle and sinew stood out as if carved by an artist’s chisel, while their glossy coats, bright eyes and light, springy step indicated that both were on edge and ready to run for a king’s ransom or a woman’s love. Boston was a red sorrel, about fifteen hands three inches high, both hind ankles white and a white strip on his face that broadened out over the nose; hence the nickname of “Old White Nose” afterward given to him by his friends. He was a horse of immense driving power, but so very symmetrical in his proportions and so evenly balanced that it was only noticeable in the eyes of a critic. As he moved about under Cornelius quietly, but with a supple, catlike step, bearing lightly on the snaffle, with his red coat gleaming in the sunshine like burnished gold, he was as beautiful and grand-looking a specimen of race horse as ever gladdened the eyes of a turfman. Duane, the son of imported Hedgford, was the counterpart of Boston in every respect, except in color and markings. He was a dark brown, almost black, with tan muzzle and flanks. While Boston’s coat shone like gold, Duane looked like polished bronze. He had no marks, except a small spot of white in his forehead that shone like a diamond, and as he was led out on the course by his old negro trainer, Lazarus, with yellow Steve in the saddle, followed by their manager, Billy McCargo, they presented a picture that will live forever in the memory of every turfman who saw them. Gilpatrick, the most distinguished jockey of his day, afterwards the rider of Boston in all of his races, and who rode Lexington in his memorable race against time, and I, both young riders then and fast friends, pooled our hard-earned wages, amounting to , and bet it all on Boston, and with beating hearts we worked our way through the crowd and took position under the wire directly opposite the judges. Hon. John C. Stevens, one of New York’s most prominent citizens, an accomplished gentleman and the most competent starter of his day, was in the stand and ordered out the horses.
“I trust that you will not linger a minute longer,” remarked the stalwart Territorial officer whom the boys had heard addressed as Colonel. “Give my regards to the Vice-Admiral, and
The thought of her husband gave her a feeling of uneasiness. She did not know how long it was since she had left the house; it might have been equally hours or minutes ago as far as she was concerned; George might return any moment and discover her here by the road in the darkness with Mr. Kennard, and of course he would never believe----
"Catching cockroaches down in the hold, sir, with Barham," answered Dicky, in a quavering voice.
1."Bah! Your over-zealousness has cost me dear. I was feeding Flamme to the Aga Kagans to consolidate our position of moral superiority for use as a lever in a number of important negotiations. Now they've backed out! Aga Kaga emerges from the affair wreathed in virtue. You've destroyed a very pretty finesse in power politics, Mr. Magnan! A year's work down the drain!"
During this winter I lost my best of friends, General MacDonnell, who died of a fever occasioned by the fatigue of our forced marching on Genoa; and a few days afterwards he was followed by his brother, the Major-General, of a fever also, resulting from the breaking out of an old wound he had received in the shoulder some fifteen years before.
"Call me Stanley." The Aga Kaga munched a grape. "I merely face the realities of popular folk-lore. Let's be pragmatic; it's a matter of historical association. Some people can grab land and pass it off lightly as a moral duty; others are dubbed imperialist merely for holding onto their own. Unfair, you say. But that's life, my friends. And I shall continue to take every advantage of it."