Their Good Time Was Not Disgraceful; But Mine Was, For
In The Midst Of So Much Misery It Was Not Meet For Me To Have A Good
Time.
That is the way I felt about it, and my only excuse is that I
couldn't help having a good time.
For instance, in the afternoon of the Fourth of July all the lepers
gathered at the race-track for the sports. I had wandered away from
the Superintendent and the physicians in order to get a snapshot of
the finish of one of the races. It was an interesting race, and
partisanship ran high. Three horses were entered, one ridden by a
Chinese, one by an Hawaiian, and one by a Portuguese boy. All three
riders were lepers; so were the judges and the crowd. The race was
twice around the track. The Chinese and the Hawaiian got away
together and rode neck and neck, the Portuguese boy toiling along
two hundred feet behind. Around they went in the same positions.
Halfway around on the second and final lap the Chinese pulled away
and got one length ahead of the Hawaiian. At the same time the
Portuguese boy was beginning to crawl up. But it looked hopeless.
The crowd went wild. All the lepers were passionate lovers of
horseflesh. The Portuguese boy crawled nearer and nearer. I went
wild, too. They were on the home stretch. The Portuguese boy
passed the Hawaiian. There was a thunder of hoofs, a rush of the
three horses bunched together, the jockeys plying their whips, and
every last onlooker bursting his throat, or hers, with shouts and
yells.
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