Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1908-02-13

BABS' SAREWITCH
By Norman HONEYWELL
Copyright

81 fink 1 shall go and back the win
ner now observes Lady Babs.
The nine-year-old daughter of the
earl of Fulham, preparatory to putting
her intention into execution, holds up
her riding habit with both hands, so
as to exhibit as much as she can of
her new top-boots to the crowd In the
birdcage.
You're going to do what?' asks
Mrs. Fame, in establishment; but Babs
pretends not to hear.
Il say, young woman calls her
father. "One moment. Where have
you been for the last half hour?"
I've been on the Heat wiz Alured
and Mrs. Fame. l fink Newmarket's the
incest place / know for a gallop. You
ought to have seen my pony! I held
Alured from the Ditch right acwoss to
the Bushes wivout extendin' him; and
Alured's mare is quite moderately
good, you know. Seen my boots, adj
miral?' she asks ~inconsequently of an
elderly man who comes up at the mo-
ment.
The admiral fixes his ~pince-nez on
his nose and affects deep interest.
by Jove, they're splendid" he de-
clares.
"Ain't they rippin'? I showed them
to Kink, and he said they were quite
vewy down the road. Isn't anybody
goin' to take me into the ring to back
Velveteen for the 'Sarewitch?" she
asks.
"But, my dear child" demurs Mrs.
Fame. "The ring! You mustn't think
of It'll"
why Velveteen?" asks the earl.
"She's at SO to 1! Hasn't a ghost OF a
chance. Why not support your dad
dy's horse, Babs?"
They are standing at the door of
the loose-box where the earl's four
year-old is awaiting the event Of the
day. Babs gives him a p%erfunctory
glance and shakes her little head sage
ly.
mot for anything" is her decision,
HE can't stay the course, and besides
| wasn't at all satisfied wiz the way
he moved at exercise yesterday"
"The deuce you ~waren't," says the
earl, with a laugh. You're getting to
know too much. Is that your personal
opinion, or did you read it in the pa
pers?"
81 read the papers," affirms
Babs. "Kink says they only give win
ners once a year, and then it's only for
a walk-over."
who is Kink?" asks Mrs. Fame.
Hes our head gardeners son; but
now he's a~ppendixed at Mr.. Wilson's,
the trainer; and he's a great friend Of
mine"
He's mashed on Babs," explains her
brother, Alured, with a grin.
He's a much nicer boy than you
are, retorts Babs. "And he rides as
well as-as Otto Madden!"
"And he says that Velveteen will
win, does hep" puts in the admiral;
and Babs mods affirmatively.
Il suppose he hasn't given you his
reasons fer that astounding predic-
tion?" suggests the earl.
tits nothing of the kind" objects
Babs, without quite knowing what pre-
diction lean TITS a stone-blind
cert" She puts no emphasis on the
phrase, merely uses it as one might a
plain statement of fact.
The admiral is vastly amused, but
has a struggle not to show it.
"Oh, don't ask me-" murmured the
earl in reply to Mrs. Fane's look Of
questioning establishment. 81 don't
know where she picks up her stable
talk"
Well, what else did your-did Mr..
Kink say" inquiries the admiral when
he has regained control of his fea.
lures.
81 can't quite member his exact
words" replies Babs, "but l fink he
said the favorite couldn't win in a
couple of fortnights If Velveteen-
that's Mr.. Millions flly, you know
only stood right sides up"
This she says with a perfectly limo
cent expression on her cherub-like
face, and shows considerable indigna-
ton when it is received with an ex-
plosion of laughter.
I'm perfectly serious" she protests.
Il know Velveteens' form to an ounce.
It's a fousand to a 1ck'n on her"
"Babs!" exclaims Mrs. Fame. How
dreadful"
"But-Velveteen!" derides the earl.
"She's tho rankest outsider Of the
whole lott"
THAT has noting to do with it, dad
dy,' argues Babs. "Kink told me to
put my shirt on her"
Il don't think he can be a very nice
boy to talk to you like that" demurs
Mrs. Fame.
"oh, but I assure you he is" de.
clares Babs, "or they wouldn't have
him In the choir Of st. Mathews"
lis that where he gives you tips?''
she asks in a shocked voice.
Notwithstanding the anfem,
when my g%overness is local terror for
the organist, and I'm wiz her.
focal what?' gasps the earl.
During the anthem? wonders Mrs.