CHAPTER XIII
THE RED HOSE RACE
"All competitors for the Red Hose, get ready!" called the bell-man, who
announced the events at the sports, and immediately all was stir and
bustle and excitement.
"Wha's gaun to win the day, Andrew?" enquired Matthew Maitland, as they
stood waiting for the runners to emerge from the dressing tent.
"I dinna ken," answered Andrew Marshall. "That's a damn'd unfair
handicap anyway. My neighbor is no' meant to lift it seemingly. Look at
the start they've gi'en him, an' young Rundell starts at the limit."
"Ay!" said Matthew. "It's no' fair. It's some o' Black Jock's doings.
He's meanin' young Rundell to wun it."
"Ay, it looks like it; but it's fashious kennin' what may happen. Rab's
a braw runner," and Andrew spoke as one who knew, for he was the only
person who had seen Robert train.
"Weel, it's harder for him to be a rinner than for young Rundell, a man
wha never wrocht a day's work in a' his life, while Rab's had to slave
hard and sair a' his days.... Though Rundell can rin too," he added,
with ungrudged admiration.
"Ay, he ran weel last year, but they tell me he'd like to get the Red
Hose to his credit, though for my pairt they'd been far better to ha'e
presented it to him, than to gi'e him it that way.
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