Four days later Sunblock Hose and I were again on the train (as well as back on the e-mail list), bound at the wrists by railroad constables who dutifully threw us off the speeding train at Winchester.

"And stay out of our freight cars!" one of them called after us.

Colonel Rossi, knowing Hose's preferred method of travel, found us in the ditch outside the station, and he drove us in his dog-cart to the racetrack on the other side of town. His face must have hurt, because it was killing me.

"I have yet to see my horse, Mr. Hose!" said he.

"I am not your horse, so quit looking at me!" replied Hose. "You're giving me the heebie-jeebies."

The colonel fumed. "I have been on the surf and turf diet for twenty years and and my eyesight is quite marvelous," said he. "Why can I not see my Modesty Blaze?"

"Hum!" said Hose, and the colonel and I began humming. There was some confusion as to what song we were humming, but eventually we settled on a duet of "Happy Birthday to You."

As the dog-cart drew up in the ractrack I glanced at the card to see the entries.

Whitesox Cup [it ran] for really old horses. Last, L1000. Next to last, L500. Next to next to last, L200. New course (one mile and five Edward Furlongs).

     1. Mr. Heath Bar's Candy.  Chocolate covering.  Toffee nougat.
     2. Colonel Warburton's Madness.  Untold tail.  Tin dispatch covering.
     3. Lord Backstreetboy's Desperateattemptatmusic.  Vanity label.
     4. Colonel Rossi's Modesty Blaze.  Cleverly disguised.  Be surprised.
     5. Duke of Moralballs's Iris. Bloodshot eyeball. Dilated pupil.
     6. Lord Henryford's Motorcar. Cherry red body. Black vinyl top.

"We scratched our Bighairygut and put all hopes on your word," said the colonel.

"Yes, but did you remove your other horse from the ticket?" Hose asked.

"My Bighairygut is definitely not in the race," the colonel reiterated.

"But did you . . . oh, never mind. Here come the horses."

"There are only five horses," I cried. "And look, one of those large deer they have around here has wandered onto the track. And it has a tootache, poor thing."

"I don't see Modesty Blaze!" cried the colonel in great agitation. "What have you have done, Mr. Hose?"

"Not much, as is my habit," said my friend imperturbably.

For a few minutes he gazed through the bottom of my field-glass, after draining it of a goodly amount of whiskey.

"You're off!" Colonel Rossi cried as the horses left the gate.

From my perch atop Sunblock Hose's shoulders, who was atop Colonel Rossi's shoulders, I had a superb view of the track. The large deer seemed to be lagging behind the rest of the very slow-moving field, until Lord Henryford's Motorcar sputtered and began to smoke, stopping dead on the track. Yet before the deer could close on Motorcar, several Americans in bright orange caps and forest green vests began firing at the deer from the stands. The poor animal, already suffering from that toothache, was quickly put out of its misery and dropped to the track.

"This is horrible, Hose!" I cried. "We cannot have such cruelty in a humorous parody meant as light entertainment!"

"Calm yourself, Whacko," Hose advised. "The deer is only stunned. The Americans were using animal-friendly tranquilizer darts."

"The race is over!" Colonel Rossi sobbed. "And how could Modesty Blaze come in last if she was never in the race?"

"Let us go down and have a look at that deer," Hose suggested. "If we unwrap that toothache bandage that runs from his chin round the base of his antlers, we may find that all is not what it seems."

We climbed onto the track and did as Hose suggested. The deer moaned in pain, but as the tranquilizers had calmed it, I was able to pull its infected tooth with a pair of dental pliers I carried in my hat just to throw Hose's deductions off.

"What an ugly deer," Colonel Rossi said. "With that long nose and long-haired tail, you would almost think he was a horse disguised as a deer."

"Uh, yes," Sunblock Hose agreed with some hesitation. "You might think that, mightn't you?"

Free of its bandage and toothace pain, the deer got to its feet, shook off the tranquilizers, and bounded into the woods on the other side of the track.

"You have explained all but one thing," cried the colonel. "Where the heck is my horse?"

"Ah, it bolted, and has emigrated to America," Hose replied. "We must have an amnesty in all directions, I think. Well, I hear a train at the station. If you care to smoke a cigar in our boxcar, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you ... you don't? Well, good-bye!"