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“What would the Hat come to?” asked Uncle Brewster, somewhat Leary.

“Only Fourteen Dollars,” she replied.

“I’ll Think it Over,” quoth Uncle Brewster, in a choking Voice, and he was so Groggy he walked into the Elevator instead of going out the Street Door.

A little while later Uncle Brewster met an Acquaintance who gave him a Complimentary Badge to the Races. He walked out to the Track, so as to make the Expense as Reasonable as possible.

As soon as he was in the Ring a Tout took him back of a Hot Sausage Booth and told him not to Give it Out, but Green Pill in the First Race was sure to Win as far as a man could throw an Anvil, and to hurry and get a Piece of Money on. Uncle Brewster looked at the Entries and began to Quiver. He wished that Doc Jimmison could be there to Advise him. Green Pill was 30 to 1, and the Tout had his information from a Stable Boy that slept with the Horse.

A Reckless Spirit seized Uncle Brewster. He said he would take a Chance even if he didn’t know for Sure that he would Win. So he walked up to a Bookie and said to him: “I want to Bet Fifty Cents on Green Pill, and this is a Dollar here, so you want to give me Fifty Cents Change.”

Whereupon the Bookie told him to Back Up and Fade and do a Disappearing Specialty.

Uncle Brewster Escaped and found himself at a Bar. He decided that he would take a Drink, because he wouldn’t be Home until next Day and by that time it would be off his Breath.

So he laid his Bosom against the Brass Railing and said to the Man in White, “You might as well draw me a Glass of Beer.”

“We’ve got it in Bottles,” said the Barkeep, regarding Uncle Brewster without a sign of Enthusiasm.

“What do you git for a Bottle?” asked Uncle Brewster.

“Twenty Cents,” was the Reply of the Liquor Clerk.

“Keep it,” said Uncle Brewster.

Perceiving that the Race-Track was in the hands of Gougers, Uncle Brewster walked back to the Hotel. By that Time his New Shoes had Crippled him, and he decided to take the Afternoon Train for home instead of Waiting Over.

That Evening he was back at his own Fireside, with the Bunged-Up Feet resting in Carpet Slippers. As he sat and read the Poultry Magazine, Aunt Mehely looked at him sidewise, and full of Suspicion said, “I s’pose you just Played Hob there in the City.”

And Uncle Brewster replied as follows: “No, Mother, I didn’t Drink and I didn’t Gamble. I didn’t do Nothin’–not even go to a Theayter.”

And as he spoke an Aureole of Virtue seemed to curdle above him, while his Countenance bore an Expression of Placid Triumph, which meant that he was the real Asbestos Paragon who had been tried in the Furnace and declared Non-Combustible.

MORAL: Some People are Good because it Comes High to be Otherwise.