Young Van Bibber had never spent a
Fourth of July in the city, as he had always understood
it was given over to armies of small boys on that
day, who sat on all the curbstones and set off fire-crackers,
and that the thermometer always showed ninety degrees
in the shade, and cannon boomed and bells rang from
daybreak to midnight. He had refused all invitations
to join any Fourth-of-July parties at the seashore
or on the Sound or at Tuxedo, because he expected
his people home from Europe, and had to be in New
York to meet them. He was accordingly greatly
annoyed when he received a telegram saying they would
sail in a boat a week later.
He finished his coffee at the club
on the morning of the Fourth about ten o’clock,
in absolute solitude, and with no one to expect and
nothing to anticipate; so he asked for a morning paper
and looked up the amusements offered for the Fourth.
There were plenty of excursions with brass bands,
and refreshments served on board, baseball matches
by the hundred, athletic meetings and picnics by the
dozen, but nothing that seemed to exactly please him.
The races sounded attractive, but
then he always lost such a lot of money, and the crowd
pushed so, and the sun and the excitement made his
head ache between the eyes and spoiled his appetite
for dinner. He had vowed again and again that
he would not go to the races; but as the day wore
on and the solitude of the club became oppressive and
the silence of the Avenue began to tell on him, he
changed his mind, and made his preparations accordingly.
First, he sent out after all the morning
papers and read their tips on the probable winners.
Very few of them agreed, so he took the horse which
most of them seemed to think was best, and determined
to back it, no matter what might happen or what new
tips he might get later. Then he put two hundred
dollars in his pocket-book to bet with, and twenty
dollars for expenses, and sent around for his field-glasses.
He was rather late in starting, and
he made up his mind on the way to Morris Park that
he would be true to the list of winners he had written
out, and not make any side bets on any suggestions
or inside information given him by others. He
vowed a solemn vow on the rail of the boat to plunge
on each of the six horses he had selected from the
newspaper tips, and on no others. He hoped in
this way to win something. He did not care so
much to win, but he hated to lose. He always
felt so flat and silly after it was over; and when
it happened, as it often did, that he had paid several
hundred dollars for the afternoon’s sport, his
sentiments did him credit.
“I shall probably, or rather
certainly, be tramped on and shoved,” soliloquized
Van Bibber.
“I shall smoke more cigars than
are good for me, and drink more than I want, owing
to the unnatural excitement and heat, and I shall be
late for my dinner. And for all this I shall
probably pay two hundred dollars. It really seems
as if I were a young man of little intellect, and
yet thousands of others are going to do exactly the
same thing.”
The train was very late. One
of the men in front said they would probably just
be able to get their money up in time for the first
race. A horse named Firefly was Van Bibber’s
choice, and he took one hundred dollars of his two
hundred to put up on her. He had it already in
his hand when the train reached the track, and he hurried
with the rest towards the bookmakers to get his one
hundred on as quickly as possible. But while
he was crossing the lawn back of the stand, he heard
cheers and wild yells that told him they were running
the race at that moment.
“Raceland!” “Raceland!”
“Raceland by a length!” shouted the crowd.
“Who’s second?” a fat man shouted
at another fat man.
“Firefly,” called back
the second, joyously, “and I’ve got her
for a place and I win eight dollars.”
“Ah!” said Van Bibber,
as he slipped his one hundred dollars back in his
pocket, “good thing I got here a bit late.”
“What’d you win, Van Bibber?”
asked a friend who rushed past him, clutching his
tickets as though they were precious stones.
“I win one hundred dollars,”
answered Van Bibber, calmly, as he walked on up into
the boxes. It was delightfully cool up there,
and to his satisfaction and surprise he found several
people there whom he knew. He went into Her box
and accepted some pate sandwiches and iced
champagne, and chatted and laughed with Her so industriously,
and so much to the exclusion of all else, that the
horses were at the starting-post before he was aware
of it, and he had to excuse himself hurriedly and
run to put up his money on Bugler, the second on his
list. He decided that as he had won one hundred
dollars on the first race he could afford to plunge
on this one, so he counted out fifty more, and putting
this with the original one hundred dollars, crowded
into the betting-ring and said, “A hundred and
fifty on Bugler straight.”
“Bugler’s just been scratched,”
said the bookie, leaning over Van Bibber’s shoulder
for a greasy five-dollar bill.
“Will you play anything else?”
he asked, as the young gentleman stood there irresolute.
“No, thank you,” said
Van Bibber, remembering his vow, and turning hastily
away. “Well,” he mused, “I’m
one hundred and fifty dollars better off than I might
have been if Bugler hadn’t been scratched and
hadn’t won. One hundred and fifty dollars
added to one hundred makes two hundred and fifty dollars.
That puts me ’way ahead of the game. I
am fifty dollars better off than when I left New York.
I’m playing in great luck.” So, on
the strength of this, he bought out the man who sells
bouquets, and ordered more champagne to be sent up
to the box where She was sitting, and they all congratulated
him on his winnings, which were suggested by his generous
and sudden expenditures.
“You must have a great eye for
picking a winner,” said one of the older men,
grudgingly.
“Y-e-s,” said Van Bibber,
modestly. “I know a horse when I see it,
I think; and,” he added to himself, “that’s
about all.”
His horse for the third race was Rover,
and the odds were five to one against him. Van
Bibber wanted very much to bet on Pirate King instead,
but he remembered his vow to keep to the list he had
originally prepared, whether he lost or won. This
running after strange gods was always a losing business.
He took one hundred dollars in five-dollar bills,
and went down to the ring and put the hundred up on
Rover and returned to the box. The horses had
been weighed in and the bugle had sounded, and three
of the racers were making their way up the track,
when one of them plunged suddenly forward and went
down on his knees and then stretched out dead.
Van Bibber was confident it was Rover, although he
had no idea which the horse was, but he knew his horse
would not run. There was a great deal of excitement,
and people who did not know the rule, which requires
the return of all money if any accident happens to
a horse on the race-track between the time of weighing
in and arriving at the post, were needlessly alarmed.
Van Bibber walked down to the ring and received his
money back with a smile.
“I’m just one hundred
dollars better off than I was three minutes ago,”
he said. “I’ve really had a most remarkable
day.”
Mayfair was his choice for the fourth
race, and she was selling at three to one. Van
Bibber determined to put one hundred and seventy-five
dollars up on her, for, as he said, he had not lost
on any one race yet. The girl in the box was
very interesting, though, and Van Bibber found a great
deal to say to her. He interrupted himself once
to call to one of the messenger-boys who ran with bets,
and gave him one hundred and seventy-five dollars to
put on Mayfair.
Several other gentlemen gave the boy
large sums as well, and Van Bibber continued to talk
earnestly with the girl. He raised his head to
see Mayfair straggle in a bad second, and shrugged
his shoulders. “How much did you lose?”
she asked.
“Oh, ’bout two hundred
dollars,” said Van Bibber; “but it’s
the first time I’ve lost to-day, so I’m
still ahead.” He bent over to continue
what he was saying, when a rude commotion and loud
talking caused those in the boxes to raise their heads
and look around. Several gentlemen were pointing
out Van Bibber to one of the Pinkerton detectives,
who had a struggling messenger-boy in his grasp.
“These gentlemen say you gave
this boy some money, sir,” said the detective.
“He tried to do a welsh with it, and I caught
him just as he was getting over the fence. How
much and on what horse, sir?”
Van Bibber showed his memoranda, and
the officer handed him over one hundred and seventy-five
dollars.
“Now, let me see,” said
Van Bibber, shutting one eye and calculating intently,
“one hundred and seventy-five to three hundred
and fifty dollars makes me a winner by five hundred
and twenty-five dollars. That’s purty good,
isn’t it? I’ll have a great dinner
at Delmonico’s to-night. You’d better
all come back with me!”
But She said he had much better come
back with her and her party on top of the coach and
take dinner in the cool country instead of the hot,
close city, and Van Bibber said he would like to, only
he did wish to get his one hundred dollars up on at
least one race. But they said “no,”
they must be off at once, for the ride was a long one,
and Van Bibber looked at his list and saw that his
choice was Jack Frost, a very likely winner, indeed;
but, nevertheless, he walked out to the enclosure
with them and mounted the coach beside the girl on
the back seat, with only the two coachmen behind to
hear what he chose to say.
And just as they finally were all
harnessed up and the horn sounded, the crowd yelled,
“They’re off,” and Van Bibber and
all of them turned on their high seats to look back.
“Magpie wins,” said the whip.
“And Jack Frost’s last,” said another.
“And I win my one hundred dollars,”
said Van Bibber. “It’s really very
curious,” he added, turning to the girl.
“I started out with two hundred dollars to-day,
I spent only twenty-five dollars on flowers, I won
six hundred and twenty-five dollars, and I have only
one hundred and seventy-five dollars to show for it,
and yet I’ve had a very pleasant Fourth.”