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diff --git a/9088-h/9088-h.htm b/9088-h/9088-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..839c568 --- /dev/null +++ b/9088-h/9088-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16026 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Thoroughbreds, by W. A. Fraser + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoroughbreds, by W. A. Fraser + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Thoroughbreds + +Author: W. A. Fraser + +Release Date: July 23, 2009 [EBook #9088] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOROUGHBREDS *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THOROUGHBREDS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + by W. A. Fraser + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Dedicated to a THOROUGHBRED MY WIFE + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XLI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link42"> XLII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XLIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> XLIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> XLV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> XLVI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + Less than a hundred miles from the city of Gotham, across broad green + fields, dotted into squares and oblong valleys by full-leafed maple, and + elm, and mulberry, was the village of Brookfield. A hundred years of + expansion in the surrounding land had acted inversely with the little + hamlet, and had pinched it into a hermitical isolation. + </p> + <p> + The Brookfieldians had discovered a huge beetle in the amber of their + serene existence; it was really the Reverend Dolman who had unearthed the + monster. The beetle in the amber was horse racing, and the prime offender, + practically the sole culprit, was John Porter. + </p> + <p> + By an inconsistent twist of fate he was known as Honest John. His father + before him had raced in old Kentucky to considerable purpose, and with the + full vigor of a man who races for sport; and so to the son John, in + consequence, had come little beyond a not-to-be-eradicated love of + thoroughbreds. To race squarely, honestly, and to the glory of + high-couraged horses was to him as much a matter of religion as the + consistent guardianship of parish morals was to the Reverend George + Dolman. Therefore, two men of strong beliefs were set on opposite sides of + the fence. + </p> + <p> + Even in the Porter household, which was at Ringwood Farm, was divided + allegiance. Mrs. Porter was possessed of an abhorrent detestation of horse + racing; also an assertive Christianity. The daughter, Allison, had + inherited the horse taint. The swinging gallop of a striving horse was to + her the obliteration of everything but sunshine, and the smile of fields, + and the blur of swift-gliding hedges, and the driving perfume of + clover-laden winds that passed strong into spread nostrils. For Alan + Porter, the son, there were columns of figures and musty-smelling bundles + of tattered paper money where he clerked in the bank. There had been great + unison in the Porter household over the placing of Alan. In addition to + horse lore, John Porter was a fair judge of human nature, and, beyond + doubt, there was a streak of velvet in Alan which would have twisted + easily in the compressive grip of the race course. + </p> + <p> + The Porter family were not the only dwellers of Brookfield who took part + in racing. Philip Crane, the banker, wandering from the respectable + highway of finance, had allowed himself to become interested in race + horses. But this fact was all but unknown in Brookfield, so the full + resentment of the place was effusively tendered to John Porter. + </p> + <p> + In his younger days some money had come to Philip Crane. The gambler + spirit, that was his of inheritance, had an instinctive truth as allied to + finance; but, unfortunately for Philip Crane, chance and a speculative + restlessness led him amongst men who commenced with the sport of kings. + With acute precipitancy he was separated from the currency that had come + to him. The process was so rapid that his racing experience was of little + avail as an asset, so he committed the first great wise act of his + life-turned his back upon the race course and marched into finance, so + strongly, so persistently, that at forty he was wealthy and the banker of + Brookfield. + </p> + <p> + Twenty years of deliberate reminiscence convinced him that he could + gratify the desire that had been his in those immature days, and possibly + work out a paying revenge. Thus it was that he had got together a small + stable of useful horses; and, of far greater moment, secured a clever + trainer, Dick Langdon. + </p> + <p> + Crane's latter-day racing had been successful—he made money at it. + No man was ever more naturally endowed to succeed on the turf than was + Banker Philip Crane. Cold, passionless, more given to deep concentrated + thought than expression, holding silence as a golden gift—even as a + gift of rare rubies—nothing drew from him an unguarded word, no + sudden turmoil quivered his nerve. It was characteristic of the man that + he had waited nearly twenty years to resume racing, which really came as + near to being a passion with him as was possible for anything to be. There + is a saying in England that it takes two years of preparation to win a big + handicap; and these were the lines upon which Philip Crane, by instinctive + adaptation, worked. + </p> + <p> + Quite by chance Dick Langdon had come into his hands over a matter of + borrowed money. It ended by the banker virtually owning every horse that + raced in the trainer's name. In addition, two or three horses ran in + Philip Crane's own name. If there had been any distinctive project in the + scheme of creation that gave Dick Langdon to the world, it probably was + that he might serve as the useful tool of a subtle thinker. Now it did + seem that Langdon had come into his own—that he had found his + predestined master. + </p> + <p> + John Porter had not been successful; ill fortune had set in, and there was + always something going wrong. Horses would break down, or get beaten by + accident—there was always something. The steady financial drain had + progressed even to an encumbrance on Ringwood. + </p> + <p> + Ringwood was simply a training farm, located close to an old disused race + course, for there had been no racing in Brookfield for years. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * * * * +</pre> + <p> + Inadvertently the Reverend Mr. Dolman had intensified the strained + relationship that existed between the good people who frowned upon all + racing endeavor and those who saw but little sinfulness in John Porter's + way of life. + </p> + <p> + The church was in debt—everything in Brookfield was, except the town + pump. The pastor was a nervous, zealous worker, and it occurred to him + that a concert might lighten the financial load. The idea was not + alarmingly original, and the carrying out of it was on conventional lines: + local volunteer talent, and a strong appeal to the people of Brookfield + for their patronage. + </p> + <p> + The concert in the little old clap-boarded church, it's sides faded and + blistered by many seasons of tempest and scorching sun, was an unqualified + success up to the fifth number. Nothing could have been more successful, + or even evoked greater applause, than the fourth effort, “Anchored,” as + rendered by the village pride in the matter of baritone singing; even De + Reszke never experienced a more genuine triumph. The applause gradually + fell away, and programmes were consulted preparatory to a correct + readiness for the fifth offering. The programmes confided that “The Death + of Crusader,” by Miss Allis Porter, was the next item. + </p> + <p> + In the front row of seats a prim little body, full of a severe quaintness + in every quirk of dress, tilted her head toward a neighbor, and whispered, + “It's that racin' gal of John Porter's.” + </p> + <p> + The neighbor answered in a creak meant for a whisper: “I'm right glad + she's took to religion for onct, an' is givin' us somethin' about them + Crusaders. They was in Palestine, you know. She's been away to boardin' + school all winter, an' I guess it'll be a high-falutin' account of the + war.” + </p> + <p> + The quaint little old lady jerked her head up and down with decisive + bobbiness. On the third upward bob her eyes opened wide in astonishment—a + small, slim figure in a glaring red coat stood in the center of the + improvised platform. + </p> + <p> + From beneath the coat fell away in long graceful lines a black riding + skirt; a dark oval face, set with large wondrous gray eyes—the + Porter eyes—confronted the quaint little old lady. + </p> + <p> + “That's the Porter gal,” her neighbor squeaked; “I've seen her a-top them + race horses more'n a hundred times. My! you'd think butter wouldn't melt + in her mouth, she's that prim now.” + </p> + <p> + “The coat would melt it,” commented the quaint one. + </p> + <p> + Then a clear, soft girlish voice, with just a tremble of apprehensive + nervousness, giving it a lilt like a robin's, said:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE RUN OF CRUSADER + + I + + Full weight they had given the gallant big Black—a hundred + and sixty he carried; + And the run for the “Hunt Cup” was over three miles, with + mud-wall and water-jump studded. + The best racing days of the old horse were past—there'd + never been better nor braver + But now once again he must carry the silk I was needing the + help of Crusader. + Could he win at the weight, I whisperingly asked, as I + cinched up the saddle girt' tight; + He snuggled my hand as I gathered the rein, and I laughed + when they talked of defeat. + To the call of the bugle I swung to his back—like a rock was + the strength of his quarters. + At sight of the people he arched his lean neck, and they, + cheered for my King of all Hunters. + + II + + Ten horses would strive for the prize—a big field, and the + pace would be killing. + From the West came Sweet Silver, a gray, gallant, and + fearless in jumping. + A rakish old nag who walked over the sticks, had been sent + for the Cup from Kentucky; + On a bay, Little Jack, who was fast, they had put but a + hundred and thirty. + But I knew that North Star, a big brown—even the Black was + no gamer- + With a pull of ten pounds in the weight, was almost a match + for Crusader. + We made a brave troop, long-striding and strong, with the + pick of cross-country riders, + As we filed past the Stand in stately parade, with its + thousands of eager admirers, + And down to the turn on the lower far side, where a red flag + was flicking the sunlight; + For twice we must circle the green-swarded field, and finish + close under the paddock. + + III + + Just once we lined up; then down cut the flag, and “Go!” + hoarse-voiced the Starter; + And the thunder of hoofs, and the clanking of bits, made + music to me on Crusader. + Quick to the front, like a deer, sped a mare, a chestnut, + making the running; + But I steadied my mount, and took him far back—with his + weight he would need all my nursing. + They took the first hedge like sheep in a bunch, bit to bit, + and stirrups a-jingle; + And so past the Stand to the broad water-jump, where three + went down, in a tangle. + I trailed at the heels of the Silver Gray—but Crusader was + begging for halter + And flew the wide ditch with the swoop of a bird, and on + again, lapped on his quarter. + Then over the Liverpool, racing like mad,—where Sweet + Silver fell fighting for lead, + And his rider lay crushed, white-faced to the sky; and to + miss him Crusader jumped wide. + + IV + + At the bank something struck, and a cloud of white dust hid + the wall as though it were shrouded; + But the big gallant Black took off with a swing—full thirty + feet ere we had landed. + As we rounded the turn I could see Little Jack go up to the + mare that was leading; + Then I let out a wrap, and quickened my pace, to work clear + of those that were tiring. + Once again past the Stand we drove at the ditch that some + would never get over; + And a cheer shook the air as the Bay landed safe; with the + mare on her back in the water. + Then over went North Star—though he pecked, and nearly + emptied his saddle. + As I lifted the Black at his heels, he frothed the Brown's + flank with his nozzle. + + V + + Then down the back stretch, o'er hedge and o'er bank, we + three were racing together; + Till at the next rail the Bay jostled the Brown, and + riderless crashed through the timber. + So we rounded the turn, and into the straight—North Star's + lean flank we were lapping + But we shot to the front when I gave the Black head, and I + saw that the other was stopping. + We raced as one horse at the very last hedge—just a nose in + front was Crusader; + I felt the big Brown bump twice at my side, and knew he was + ready to blunder. + With stirrups a-ding, empty-saddled the Bay, stride for + stride, galloped and floundered. + Just missing his swerve, I called on the Black, and drew out + as he bravely responded. + + VI + + Just the last jump! and Crusader took off twenty feet from + the brush-covered timber. + Then the Bay jumped—too short for his stride—and fell, + with his head on my wither. + Down, down! almost to earth,—brought to his knees in the + struggle, + The Black lost a length, the Brown forged ahead, and I was + half out of the saddle. + How I sat down and rode! how the old horse strove! and the + Brown rolling tired in his gallop. + On, gallant Black! on, my brave pet! We were almost under + the paddock. + Then we nosed the Brown's dank; then we reached to his girt'; + neck and neck I rode at his shoulder. + As we flashed past the post I had won by a head. How they + cheered, “Bravo, Crusader!” + + VII + + But Crusader stopped short; gave a sigh and fell dead; I + stood all alone in the winning. + And a hush came over the clamorous mob; like a babe on his + neck I was sobbing. + He had run his last race; game to the end, his brave heart + broke in the striving. +</pre> + <p> + The girl's voice faltered and died away to a broken whisper as she told of + the death of Crusader. For a full minute there was a noiseless hush. The + full pathos of the gallant horse's striving had crept into the hearts that + were flesh and blood; and, carried away by their feelings, the people had + forgotten all about their tortured convictions of the sinfulness of making + a horse go faster than a sharp trot. Gradually into their awakening senses + stole a conviction that somehow they were countenancing the sin of racing. + </p> + <p> + Before the complete horror of the situation had mastered the audience, a + strong pair of hands, far back in the church, came together with an + explosive clap. Like the rat-rat-tat of a quick-firing gun was the + appreciative volley of recognition from the solitary applauder. It went + rolling and crackling through the church defiantly, derisively, + appreciatively. Halfway up the aisle a softer pair of hands touched the + rattle with what sounded like a faint echo; then there was sudden silence. + The entire audience turned and looked disparagingly, discouragingly, at + the man who had figuratively risen as a champion of the scandalous + recitation. Resentment had taken hold of the good Christians. That + Crusader had enlisted their sympathies for a few minutes showed the + dangerous subtlety of this “horseracin' business.” + </p> + <p> + The rest of the programme might just as well have been eliminated; the + concert, as a concert, would be discussed for all time to come as having + projected “The Death of Crusader.” + </p> + <p> + The people flowed from the church full of an expressive contentiousness, + seeking by exuberant condemnation of the sacrilege to square themselves + somehow with their consciences for the brief backsliding. + </p> + <p> + Where the church path turned into the road a group of men had drawn + together, attracted by the magnet of discussion. They quite blocked the + pathway, oblivious to everything but their outraged feelings. Like a great + dark blotch in the night the group stood; and presently two slight gray + shadows slipping up the path, coming to the human barricade, stopped, + wavered, and circled out on the grass to pass. The shadows were Allis + Porter and her brother Alan. + </p> + <p> + One of the men, overfilled with his exceeding wrath, seeing the girl, gave + expression to a most unchristian opinion of her modesty. The sharp ears of + the boy heard the words of the man of harsh instinct, and his face flushed + hot with resentment. He half turned, bitter reproach rising to his lips. + How could men be so brutish? How could they be so base? To speak ill of + his sister Allis, who was just the purest, sweetest little woman that ever + lived—too brave and true to be anything else but good! + </p> + <p> + As he turned he saw something that checked his futile anger. A tall shadow + that had come up the path behind them stretched out an arm, and he heard + the vilifier's words gurgle and die away, as one of the strong hands that + had beat the tattoo of approbation clutched him by the throat. The boy + would have rushed to the assistance of this executive friend if the girl + had not clasped his arm in detention. + </p> + <p> + “It's Mortimer!” he cried, as a voice from the strong-armed figure cut the + night air with sharp decision. + </p> + <p> + Then the shadowy forms twisted up grotesquely, weaving in and out. There + were voices of expostulation and strong words of anger; but the new + serious business that had materialized had most effectually put a stop to + reflections upon the innocent girl who had so unwittingly offended. + </p> + <p> + “It's George Mortimer—he's in our bank,” Alan confided to his + sister, as they moved away. “He's all right—he's strong as a horse; + and I bet Crandal'll have a kink in his neck to-morrow, where George + pinched him.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it about?” the girl asked. + </p> + <p> + “Crandal was jawing about people who own race horses,” the boy answered, + evasively. “It's Crandal, the butcher.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + It was the May meeting at Morris Park, and Morris Park is the most + beautiful race course in all America. + </p> + <p> + John Porter, walking up the steps of the Grand Stand, heard some one call + him by name. Turning his head, he saw it was James Danby, an owner, + sitting in his private box. Porter turned into the box, and taking the + chair the other pushed toward him, sat down. + </p> + <p> + “What about Lucretia?” asked Danby, with the air of an established + friendship which permitted the asking of such questions. + </p> + <p> + “She's ready to the minute,” replied Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Can she get the five furlongs?” queried Danby. “She's by Assassin, and + some of them were quitters.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll quit if she falls dead,” replied the other man, quietly. “I've + worked her good enough to win, and I'm backing her.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do for me,” declared Danby. “To tell you the truth, John, I like + the little mare myself; but I hear that Langdon, who trained Lauzanne, + expects to win.” + </p> + <p> + “The mare'll be there, or thereabouts,” asserted her owner; “I never knew + a Lazzarone yet much good as a two-year-old. They're sulky brutes, like + the old horse; and if Lucretia's beat, it won't be Lauzanne that'll turn + the trick.” + </p> + <p> + The bell clanged imperiously at the Judges' Stand. Porter pulled out his + watch and looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “That's saddling,” he remarked, laconically; “I must go and have a bit on + the mare, and then take a look at her before she goes out.” + </p> + <p> + As Porter went down the steps his companion leaned over the rail and + crooked his fingers at a thin-faced man with a blond mustache who had been + keeping a corner of his eye on the box. + </p> + <p> + “What are they making favorite, Lewis?” queried Danby, as the thin-faced + man stood beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + “What's her price?” + </p> + <p> + “Two to one.” + </p> + <p> + “What's second favorite?” + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne—five to two.” + </p> + <p> + “Porter tells me Lucretia is good business,” said Danby, in a tentative + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Langdon thinks it's all over bar the shouting; he says Lauzanne + outclasses his field,” retorted Lewis. + </p> + <p> + “Langdon's a betting man; Porter's an owner, and a good judge,” objected + Danby; “and he's got a good boy up, too, McKay,” he added, slowly focusing + his field glasses on the jockey board opposite the Stand. + </p> + <p> + “Crooked as a dog's hind legs,” snarled Lewis, biting viciously at his + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “Bob, it's damned hard to find a straight-legged dog,” laughed Danby. “And + when John Porter starts a horse, there's never anything doing. Here's six + hundred; put' it on the mare—straight.” + </p> + <p> + As Lewis pushed his way into the shoving, seething, elbowing crowd in the + betting ring, he was suddenly struck in the chest by something which + apparently had the momentum of an eight-inch shell; but it was only John + Porter, who, in breaking through the outer crust of the living mass, had + been ejected with more speed than was of his own volition. + </p> + <p> + Bob smothered the expletive that had risen to his lip when he saw who the + unwitting offender was, and asked, “What are they doin' to the mare in the + ring?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much,” answered his assailant, catching his breath; “there's a strong + play on Langdon's horse, and if I didn't know my boy pretty well, and + Lucretia better, I'd have weakened a bit. But she can't lose, she can't + lose!” he repeated in the tone of a man who is reassuring himself. + </p> + <p> + Lewis battled his way along till he stood in front of a bookmaker with a + face cast very much on the lines of a Rubens' cherub; but the cherub-type + ended abruptly with the plump frontispiece of “Jakey” Faust, the + bookmaker. Lewis knew that. “If there's anythin' doin', I'm up against it + here,” he muttered to himself. “What's Lauzanne's price?” he asked, in an + indifferent voice, for the bookmaker's assistant was busy changing the + figures on his list. + </p> + <p> + Faust pretended not to hear him. + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing!” whispered Lewis to himself. Then aloud he repeated the + question, touching the bookmaker on the elbow. + </p> + <p> + The Cherub smiled blandly. “Not takin' any,” he answered, nodding his head + in the pleasant manner of a man who knows when he's got a good thing. + </p> + <p> + “What's Lucretia?” persisted Lewis. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! that's it, is it? I'll lay you two to one.” + </p> + <p> + The questioner edged away, shaking his head solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Here! five to two—how much—” but Lewis was gone. + </p> + <p> + He burrowed like a mole most industriously, regardless of people's toes, + their ribs, their dark looks, and even angry expressions of strong + disapproval, and when he gained the green sward of the lawn, hurried to + his friend's box. + </p> + <p> + “Did you get it on?” queried the latter. + </p> + <p> + “No; I don't like the look of it. Faust is holding out Lauzanne, and + stretched me half a point about the mare. He and Langdon are in the same + boat.” + </p> + <p> + “But that won't win the race,” remonstrated Danby. “Lauzanne is a maiden, + and Porter doesn't often make a mistake about any of his own stock.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I'd come back and tell you,” said Bob Lewis, apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “And you did right; but if the mare wins, and I'm not on, after getting it + straight from Porter, I'd want to go out and kick myself good and hard. + But put it on straight and place; then if Lauzanne's the goods we'll + save.” + </p> + <p> + Lewis was gone about four minutes. + </p> + <p> + “You're on,” he said, when he returned; “I've two hundred on the Chestnut + for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne?” + </p> + <p> + “It's booked that way; but I'm backin' the Trainer, Langdon. I went on my + uppers two years ago backing horses; I'm following men now.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad business,” objected his stout friend; “it's bad business to back + anything that talks.” + </p> + <p> + When John Porter reached the saddling paddock, his brown mare, Lucretia, + was being led around in a circle in the lower corner. As he walked down + toward her his trainer, Andy Dixon, came forward a few paces to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “Are they hammerin' Crane's horse in the ring, sir?” he asked, smoothing + down the grass with the toe of one foot, watching this physical process + with extreme interest. + </p> + <p> + “Just what you'd notice,” replied Porter. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't like the look of it a little bit. Here's this Lauzanne runs + like a dog the last time out—last by the length of a street—and + now I've got it pretty straight they're out for the stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “They'd a stable-boy up on him that time.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” cried Dixon. “Grant comes to me that day—you know + Grant, he works the commission for Dick Langdon—and tells me to + leave the horse alone; and to-day he comes and—” he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “And what?” + </p> + <p> + “Tells me to go light on our mare.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't Grant broke?” asked Porter, with seeming irrelevance. + </p> + <p> + “He's close next it,” answered the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't his friends that follow him all broke?” + </p> + <p> + “A good many of them have their address in Queer Street.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Andy,” said the owner, “there isn't a man with a horse in this + stake that doesn't think he's going to win; and when it's all over we'll + see Lucretia's number go up. Grant's a fool,” he added, viciously. “Didn't + he break Fisher-didn't he break every other man that ever stuck to him?” + </p> + <p> + “It's not Grant at all,” replied Dixon, rubbing the palms of his hands + together thoughtfully—a way he had when he wished to concentrate in + concrete form the result of some deep cogitation—“it's Langdon, an' + he's several blocks away from an asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Langdon makes mistakes too.” + </p> + <p> + “He cashes in often when he's credited with a mistake,” retorted the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've played the little mare,” asserted Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Much, sir?” asked Dixon, solicitously. + </p> + <p> + “All I can stand—and a little more,” he added, falteringly; “I + needed a win, a good win,” he offered, in an explanatory voice. “I want to + clear Ringwood—but never mind about that, Andy. The mare's well—ain't + she? There can't be anything doing with McKay—we've only put him up + a few times, but he seems all right.” + </p> + <p> + “I think we'll win,” answered the Trainer; “I didn't get anythin' straight—just + that there seemed a deuced strong tip on Lauzanne, considerin' that he'd + never showed any form to warrant it. Yonder he is, sir, in number five—go + and have a look at him.” + </p> + <p> + As John Porter walked across the paddock a horseman touched the fingers of + his right hand to his cap. There was a half-concealed look of interest in + the man's eye that Porter knew from experience meant something. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know, Mike?” he asked, carelessly, only half halting in his + stride. + </p> + <p> + “Nottin' sir; but dere's somebody in de know dis trip. Yer mare's a good + little filly, w'en she's right, but ye'r up against it.” + </p> + <p> + Porter stopped and looked at the horseman. He was Mike Gaynor, a trainer, + and more than once Porter had stood his friend. Mike always had on hand + three or four horses of inconceivable slowness, and uncertainty of wind + and limb; consequently there was an ever-recurring inability to pay feed + bills, so he had every chance to know just who was his friend and who was + not, for he tried them most sorely. + </p> + <p> + Porter knew all this quite well; also that in spite of Mike's chronic + impecuniosity he was honest, and true as steel to a benefactor. He waited, + feeling sure that Gaynor had something to tell. + </p> + <p> + “There's a strong play on Lauzanne, ain't there, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Porter nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Sure t'ing! That Langdon's a crook. I knowed him when he was ridin' on + freight cars; now he's a swell, though he's a long sprint from bein' a + gentleman. I got de tip dat dere was a killin' on, an' I axed Dick Langdon + if dere was anyt'ing doin'; an' Dick says to me, says he, puttin' hot' + t'umbs up”—and Mike held both hands out horizontally with the thumbs + stiff and vertical to illustrate this form of oath—“'there's nottin' + doin', Mike,' says he. What d'ye t'ink of that, sir, an' me knowin' there + was?” asked Mike, tragically. + </p> + <p> + “It's the biggest tip that always falls down, Gaynor; and they've got to + be pretty swift to beat Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + “That filly's all right; she's worked out well enough to do up that field + of stiffs. I ain't no rail bird, but I've hed me eye on her. But I ain't + doin' no stunt about horses, Mister Porter; I'm talkin' about men. Th' + filly's honest, and ye'r honest sir, but ye don't roide th' mare yerself, + do ye?” + </p> + <p> + “You think, Mike—” began Mr. Porter, questioningly; but Gaynor + interrupted him with: “I don't think nothin', sir, an' I ain't sayin' + nothin. I ain't never been before the Stewards yet for crooked work, or + crooked talk; but there's a boy ridin' in dat bunch to-day w'at got six + hundred for t'rowing me down once, see? S'elp me God! he pulled Blue Smoke + to a standstill on me, knowin' that it would break me. That was at Coney + Island, two years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And you don't remember his name, I suppose, Mike?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't remember not'in' but that I got it in th' neck. But ye keep yer + eye open, sir. Ye t'ink that none of the b'ys would t'row ye down cause + ye've been good to 'em; but some of 'em are that mean they'd steal th' + sugar from a fly. I know 'em. I hears 'em talk, cause they don't mind me—t'ink + I'm one of th' gang.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much, Gaynor; I appreciate your kindly warning; but I hope + you're mistaken, all the same,” said Porter. Then he proceeded on his way + toward stall five, in which was Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Mr. Porter?” + </p> + <p> + It was Philip Crane, standing just outside of the stall, who thus + addressed him. “Got something running today?” he continued, with vague + innocence. + </p> + <p> + Langdon, just inside the box, chuckled softly. Surely Crane was a past + master in duplicity. + </p> + <p> + “I'm starting Lucretia in this race,” replied Honest John. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Then Crane took Porter gently by the sleeve and drew him half within + the stall. “Mr. Langdon, who trains a horse or two for me, says this + one'll win;” and he indicated the big chestnut colt that the Trainer was + binding tight to a light racing saddle. “You'd better have a bit on, Mr. + Porter,” Crane added. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia carries my money,” answered Porter in loyalty. + </p> + <p> + Langdon looked up, having cinched the girth tight, and took a step toward + the two men. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we both can't win,” he said, half insolently; “an' I don't think + there's anything out to-day'll beat Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “That mare'll beat him,” retorted Porter, curtly, nettled by the other's + cocksureness. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet you one horse against the other, the winner to take both,” cried + Langdon in a sneering, defiant tone. + </p> + <p> + “I've made my bets,” said Lucretia's owner, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I hear you had an offer of five thousand for your filly, Mr. Porter,” + half queried Crane. + </p> + <p> + “I did, and I refused it.” + </p> + <p> + “And here's the one that'll beat her to-day, an' I'll sell him for half + that,” asserted the Trainer, putting his hand on Lauzanne's neck. + </p> + <p> + Exasperated by the persistent boastfulness of Langdon, Porter was angered + into saying, “If he beats my mare, I'll give you that for him myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Done!” snapped Langdon. “I've said it, an' I'll stick to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want the horse—” began Porter; but Langdon interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you want to crawl.” + </p> + <p> + “I never crawl,” said Porter fiercely. “I don't want your horse, but just + to show you what I think of your chance of winning, I'll give you two + thousand and a half if you beat my mare, no matter what wins the race.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you'd better call this bargain off, Mr. Porter,” remonstrated + Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the bargain will be off,” answered John Porter; “if I'm any judge, + Lauzanne's running his race right here in the stall.” + </p> + <p> + His practiced eye had summed up Lauzanne as chicken-hearted; the sweat was + running in little streams down the big Chestnut's legs, and dripping from + his belly into the drinking earth spit-spit, drip-drip; his head was high + held in nervous apprehension; his lips twitched, his flanks trembled like + wind-distressed water, and the white of his eye was showing ominously. + </p> + <p> + Langdon cast a quick, significant, cautioning look at Crane as Porter + spoke of the horse; then he said, “You're a fair judge, an' if you're + right you get all the stuff an' no horse.” + </p> + <p> + “I stand to my bargain whatever happens,” Porter retorted. + </p> + <p> + At that instant the bugle sounded. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, Westley,” Langdon said to his jockey, “they're going out.” + </p> + <p> + As he lifted the boy to the saddle, the Trainer whispered a few concise + directions. + </p> + <p> + “Hold him steady at the post,” he muttered; “I've got him a bit on edge + to-day. Get off in front and stay there; he's feelin' good enough to leave + the earth. This'll be a matter of a couple of hundred to you if you win.” + </p> + <p> + “All out! all out!” called the voice, of the paddock offcial. “Number + one!” then, “Come on you, Wesltey! they're all out.” + </p> + <p> + The ten starters passed in stately procession from the green-swarded + paddock through an open gate to the soft harrowed earth, gleaming + pink-brown in the sunlight, of the course. How consciously beautiful the + thoroughbreds looked! The long sweeping step; the supple bend of the + fetlock as it gave like a wire spring under the weight of great broad + quarters, all sinewy strength and tapered perfection; the stretch of + gentle-curved neck, sweet-lined as a greyhound's, bearing a lean, bony + head, set with two great jewels of eyes, in which were honesty and + courage, and eager longing for the battle of strength and stamina, and + stoutness of heart; even the nostrils, with a red transparency as of silk, + spread and drank eagerly the warm summer air that was full of the perfume + of new-growing clover and green pasture-land. + </p> + <p> + Surely the spectacle of these lovely creatures, nearest to man in their + thoughts and their desires, and superior in their honesty and truth, was a + sight to gladden the hearts of kings. Of a great certainty it was a sport + of kings; and also most certainly had it at times come into the hands of + highway robbers. + </p> + <p> + Some such bitter thought as this came into the heart of John Porter as he + stood and watched his beautiful brown mare, Lucretia, trailing with + stately step behind the others. He loved good horses with all the fervor + of his own strong, simple, honest nature. Their walk was a delight to him, + their roaring gallop a frenzy of eager sensation. There was nothing in the + world he loved so well. Yes—his daughter Allis. But just now he was + thinking of Lucretia—Lucretia and her rival, the golden-haired + chestnut, Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + He passed through the narrow gate leading from the paddock to the Grand + Stand. The gate keeper nodded pleasantly to him and said: “Hope you'll do + the trick with the little mare, sir. I'm twenty years at the business, and + I haven't got over my likin' for an honest horse and an honest owner yet.” + </p> + <p> + There was covert insinuation of suspicion, albeit a kindly one, in the + man's voice. The very air was full of the taint of crookedness; else why + should the official speak of honesty at all? Everyone knew that John + Porter raced to win. + </p> + <p> + He crossed the lawn and leaned against the course fence, to take a + deciding look at the mare and the Chestnut as they circled past the stand + in the little view-promenade which preceded the race. + </p> + <p> + His trained eye told him that Lauzanne was a grand-looking horse; big, + well-developed shoulders reached back toward the huge quarters until the + small racing saddle almost covered the short back. What great promise of + weight-carrying was there! + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little at the irrelevance of this thought, for it was not a + question of weight-carrying at all; two-year-olds at a hundred pounds in a + sprint of only five furlongs. Speed was the great factor to be considered, + and surely Lucretia outclassed the other in that way. The long, + well-ribbed-up body, with just a trace of gauntness in the flank; the slim + neck; the deep chest; the broad, flat canon bones, and the well-let-down + hocks, giving a length of thigh like a greyhound's—and the thighs + themselves, as John Porter looked at them under the tucked-up belly of the + gentle mare, big, and strong, and full of a driving force that should make + the others break a record to beat her. + </p> + <p> + From the inquisition of the owner's study Lucretia stood forth triumphant; + neither the Chestnut nor anything else in the race could beat her. And + Jockey McKay—Porter raised his eyes involuntarily, seeking for some + occult refutation of the implied dishonesty of the boy he had trusted. He + found himself gazing straight into the small shifty eyes of Lucretia's + midget rider, and such a hungry, wolfish look of mingled cunning and + cupidity was there that Porter almost shuddered. The insinuations of Mike + Gaynor, and the other things that pointed at a job being on, hadn't half + the force of the dishonesty that was so apparent in the tell-tale look of + the morally, irresponsible boy in whose hands he was so completely + helpless. All the careful preparation of the mare, the economical saving, + even to the self-denial of almost necessary things to the end that he + might have funds to back her heavily when she ran; and the high trials she + had given him when asked the question, and which had gladdened his heart + and brought an exclamation of satisfaction from his phlegmatic trainer; + the girlish interest of his daughter in the expected triumph—all + these contingencies were as less than nothing should the boy, with the + look of a demon in his eyes, not ride straight and honest. + </p> + <p> + Even then it was not too late to ask the Stewards to set McKay down, but + what proof had he to offer that there was anything wrong? The boy's good + name would be blasted should he, John Porter, say at the last minute that + he did not trust him; and perhaps the lad was innocent. Race people were + ready to cry out that a jockey was fixed-that there was something wrong, + when their own judgment was at fault and they lost. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Porter gave a cry of astonishment. “My God!” he muttered, “the + boy has got spurs on. That'll set the mare clean crazy.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Dixon, who was at his elbow: “Why did you let McKay put on + the steels?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him not to.” “He's got them on.” + </p> + <p> + “They've got to come off,” and the Trainer dashed up the steps to the + Stewards. In two minutes he returned, a heavy frown on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” queried Porter. + </p> + <p> + “I've made a mess of it,” answered Dixon, sullenly. “It seems there's + hints of a job on, an' the Stewards have got the wrong end of the stick.” + </p> + <p> + “They refused to let the mare go back to the paddock?” queried Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' one of them said that if trainers would stick closer to their + horses, an' keep out of the bettin' ring, that the public'd get a better + run for their money.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Andy,” said Porter, consolingly. + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty tough on me, but it's worse on you, sir. That boy hadn't + spurs when he weighed, an' there's the rankest kind of a job on, I'll take + me oath.” + </p> + <p> + “We've got to stand to it, Andy.” + </p> + <p> + “That we have; we've just got to take our medicine like little men. Even + if we make a break an' take McKay off there isn't another good boy left. + If he jabs the little mare with them steels she'll go clean crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “It's my fault, Andy. I guess I've saved and petted her a bit too much. + But she never needed spurs—she'd break her heart trying without + them.” + </p> + <p> + “By God!” muttered Dixon as he went back to the paddock, “if the boy stops + the mare he'll never get another mount, if I can help it. It's this sort + of thing that kills the whole business of racing. Here's a stable that's + straight from owner to exercise boy, and now likely to throw down the + public and stand a chance of getting ruled off ourselves because of a + gambling little thief that can spend the income of a prince. But after all + it isn't his fault. I know who ought to be warned off if this race is + fixed; but they won't be able to touch a hair of him; he's too damn slick. + But his time'll come—God knows how many men he'll break in the + meantime, though.” + </p> + <p> + As John Porter passed Danby's box going up into the stand, the latter + leaned over in his chair, touched him on the arm and said, “Come in and + take a seat.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” replied the other man, “my daughter is up there somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I've played the mare,” declared Danby, showing Porter a memo written in a + small betting book. + </p> + <p> + The latter started and a frown crossed his brown face. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry—I'm afraid it's no cinch.” + </p> + <p> + “Five to two never is,” laughed his friend. “But she's a right smart + filly; she looks much the best of the lot. Dixon's got her as fit as a + fiddle string. When you're done with that man you might turn him over to + me, John.” + </p> + <p> + “The mare's good enough,” said Porter, “and I've played her myself—a + stiffish bit, too; but all the same, if you asked me now, I'd tell you to + keep your money in your pocket. I must go,” he added, his eye catching the + flutter of a race card which was waving to him three seats up. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a seat, Dad,” cried the girl, cheeringly, lifting her coat from a + chair she had kept for her father. + </p> + <p> + For an instant John Porter forgot all about Lucretia and her troubles. The + winsome little woman had the faculty of always making him forget his + trials; she had to the fullest extent that power so often found in plain + faces. Strictly speaking, she wasn't beautiful—any man would have + passed that opinion if suddenly asked the question upon first seeing her. + Doubt of the excellence of this judgment might have crept into his mind + after he had felt the converting influence of the blue-gray eyes that were + so much like her father's; in them was the most beautiful thing in the + world, an undoubted evidence of truth and honesty and sympathy. She was + small and slender, but no one had ever likened her to a flower. There was + apparent sinewy strength and vigor in the small form. Her life, claimed by + the open air, had its reward—the saddle is no cradle for weaklings. + Bred in an atmosphere of racing, and surrounded as she had always been by + thoroughbreds, Allis had grown up full of admiration for their honesty, + and courage, and sweet temper. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + In John Porter's home horse racing had no debasing effect. If a man + couldn't race squarely—run to win every time—he had better + quit the game, Porter had always asserted. He raced honestly and bet + openly, without cant and without hypocrisy; just as a financier might have + traded in stocks in Wall Street; or a farmer might plant his crops and + trust to the future and fair weather to yield him a harvest in return. + </p> + <p> + So much of the racing life was on honor—so much of the working out + of it was in the open, where purple-clovered fields gave rest, and health, + and strength, that the home atmosphere was impregnated with moral truth, + and courage, and frankness, in its influence on the girl's development. + </p> + <p> + Every twist of her sinewy figure bore mute testimony to this; every glance + from her wondrous eyes was an eloquent substantiating argument in favor of + the life she affected. John Porter looked down at the small, rather dark, + upturned face, and a half-amused smile of content came to his lips. “Did + you see Lucretia?” he asked. “Isn't she a beauty? Hasn't Dixon got her in + the pink of condition?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw nothing else, father.” She beckoned to him with her eyes, tipped + her head forward, and whispered: “Those people behind us have backed + Lauzanne. I think they're racing folks.” + </p> + <p> + The father smiled as an uncultured woman's voice from one row back jarred + on his ear. Allis noticed the smile and its provocation, and said, + speaking hastily, “I don't mean like you, father—” + </p> + <p> + “Like us,” he corrected. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps; they're more like betting or training people, though.” She + put her hand on his arm warningly, as a high-pitched falsetto penetrated + the drone of their half-whispered words, saying, “I tell you Dick knows + all about this Porter mare, Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + “But I like her,” a baritone voice answered. “She looks a rattlin' filly.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll dine off zwieback and by your lonely, Ned, if you play horses on + their looks—” + </p> + <p> + “Or women either,” the baritone cut in. + </p> + <p> + “You're a fair judge, Ned. But Dick told me to go the limit on Lauzanne, + and to leave the filly alone.” + </p> + <p> + “On form Lucretia ought to win,” the man persisted; “an' there's never + anythin' doin' with Porter.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not;” the unpleasant feminine voice sneered mockingly, with an + ill-conditioned drawl on the “perhaps”; “but he doesn't ride his own mare, + does he?” + </p> + <p> + John Porter started. Again that distasteful expression fraught with + distrust and insinuation. There was a strong evil odor of stephanotis + wafted to his nostrils as the speaker shook her fan with impatient + decision. The perfume affected him disagreeably; it was like the + exhalation of some noisome drug; quite in keeping with the covert + insinuation of her words that Dick, as she called him—it must be + Dick Langdon, the trainer of Lauzanne, Porter mused—had given her + advice based on a knowledge quite irrespective of the galloping powers of + the two horses. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that, father?” Allis whispered. + </p> + <p> + He nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “What does it all mean?” + </p> + <p> + “It means, girl,” he said, slowly, “that all the trouble and pains I have + taken over Lucretia since she was foaled, two years ago, and her dam, the + old mare, Maid of Rome, died, even to raising the little filly on a + bottle, and watching over her temper that it should not be ruined by + brutal savages of stable-boys, whose one idea of a horse is that he must + be clubbed into submission—that all the care taken in her training, + and the money spent for her keep and entries goes for nothing in this + race, if Jockey McKay is the rascal I fear he is.” + </p> + <p> + “You think some one has got at him, Dad?” + </p> + <p> + Her father nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I'd been a boy, so that I could have ridden Lucretia for you + to-day,” Allis exclaimed with sudden emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “I almost wish you had, Little Woman; you'd have ridden straight anyway—there + never was a crooked one of our blood.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why a jockey or anybody else should be dishonest—I'm + sure it must take too much valuable time to cover up crooked ways.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you'd have made a great jock, Little Woman;” the father went on, + musingly, as he watched the horses lining up for the start. “Men think if + a boy is a featherweight, and tough as a Bowery loafer, he's sure to be a + success in the saddle. That's what beats me—a boy of that sort + wouldn't be trusted to carry a letter with ten dollars in it, and on the + back of a good horse he's, piloting thousands. Unless a jockey has the + instincts of a gentleman, naturally, he's almost certain to turn out a + blackguard sooner or later, and throw down his owner. He'll have more + temptations in a week to violate his trust than a bank clerk would have in + a lifetime.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that why you put Alan in the bank, father?” + </p> + <p> + Porter went on as though he had not heard the daughter's query. “To make a + first-class jock, a boy must have nerves of steel, the courage of a + bulldog, the self-controlling honesty of a monk. You've got all these + right enough, Allis, only you're a girl, don't you see—just a good + little woman,” and he patted her hand affectionately. + </p> + <p> + “They're off!” exclaimed the baritone. + </p> + <p> + “Not this trip,” objected the falsetto. + </p> + <p> + “The spurs—the young fiend!” fiercely ejaculated John Porter. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “The boy on Lucretia is jabbing her with the spurs, and she's cutting up.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the fourth false start,” said Ned, the baritone. “I don't think + much of your Lauzanne, he's like a crazy horse.” + </p> + <p> + Allis heard the woman's shrill voice, smothered to a hissing whisper, + answer something. Two distinct words, “the hop,” carried to her ears. + There was a long-drawnout baritone, “Oh-h!” then, in the same key, “I knew + Lauzanne was a sluggard, and couldn't make out why he was so frisky + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Dick's got it down fine”—just audibly from the woman; “Lauzanne'll + try right enough this time out.” + </p> + <p> + “The mare's actin' as if she'd a cup of tea, too,” muttered her companion, + Ned. + </p> + <p> + This elicited a dry chuckle from the woman. + </p> + <p> + Allis pinched her father's arm again, and looked up in his face + inquiringly, as from the seat behind them the jumbled conversation came to + their ears. Porter nodded his head understandingly, and frowned. The + stephanotis was choking his nostrils, and an occasional word was filling + his heart with confirmation of his suspicions. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it,” he muttered to Allis. “They've had four breaks, and the + mare's been left each time. The Chestnut's the worst actor I ever saw at + the post. But I'm thinking he'll leave the race right there, the way he's + cutting up.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” he exclaimed in the next breath. He had startled the girl with + the fierce emphasis he threw into the words; she sprang to her feet in + excitement. + </p> + <p> + A bell had clanged noisily, there was the shuffle of thousands of eager + feet; a hoarse cry, “They're off!” went rolling from tier to tier, from + seat to seat, to the topmost row of the huge stand. + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne is off with a flying lead of three lengths, and the mare is left + absolutely-absolutely last. The boy whipped her about just as the flag + fell.” There was the dreary monotone of crushed hope in Porter's voice as + he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we're out of it, Little Woman,” he continued; and there was almost a + tone of relief, of resignation. Suspense was gone; realization of the + disaster seemed to have steadied his nerves again. Allis attempted to + speak, but her low voice was hushed to a whisper by the exultant cries + that were all about them. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you—Lauzanne wins in a walk!” the falsetto voice was + an exultant squeak of hilarious excitement. + </p> + <p> + “You called the turn.” Even Ned's baritone had risen to a false-keyed + tenor; he was standing on his toes, peering over the heads of taller men + in front. + </p> + <p> + Allis brushed from her eyes the tears of sympathy that had welled into + them, and, raising her voice, spoke bravely, clinging to the vain hope: + “Lucretia is game, father—she may win yet—the race is not lost + till they're past the post.” + </p> + <p> + Then her voice died away, and she kept pleading over and over in her + heart, “Come on Lucretia—come on, brave little mare! Is she gaining, + father—can you see?” + </p> + <p> + “She'll never make it up,” Porter replied, as he watched the jumble of + red, and yellow, and black patterned into a trailing banner, which waved, + and vibrated, and streamed in the glittering sunlight, a furlong down the + Course—and the tail of it was his own blue, whitestarred jacket. In + front, still a good two lengths in front, gleamed scarlet, like an evil + eye, the all red of Lauzanne's colors. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Lucretia, father?” the girl asked again, stretching her slight + figure up in a vain endeavor to see over the shoulders of those in front. + </p> + <p> + “She had an opening there,” Porter replied, speaking his thoughts more + than answering the girl, “but the boy pulled her into the bunch on the + rail. He doesn't want to get through. Oh!” he exclaimed, as though some + one had struck him in the face. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong? Has she—” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Minstrel. His boy threw him fair across Lucretia, and knocked + her to her knees.” He lowered his glasses listlessly. “It's Lauzanne all + the way, if he lasts out. He's dying fast though, and Westley's gone to + the whip.” + </p> + <p> + He was looking through his glasses again. Though beaten, his racing blood + was up. “If Lauzanne wins it will be Westley's riding; the Hanover colt, + The Dutchman, is at his quarter. He'll beat him out, for the Hanovers are + all game.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on you, Lauzanne!” Even the exotic stephanotis failed to obliterate + the harsh, mercenary intensity of the feminine cry at the back of Allis. + </p> + <p> + “He's beat!” a deep discordant voice groaned. “I knew he was a quitter;” + the woman's companion was pessimistic. + </p> + <p> + Like trees of a forest, swayed by strong compelling winds, the people + rocked in excitement, tiptoed and craned eager necks, as they watched the + magnificent struggle that was drawing to a climax in the stretch. Inch by + inch the brave son of Hanover was creeping up on Lauzanne. How loosely the + big Chestnut galloped—rolling like a drunken man in the hour of his + distress. Close pressed to his neck, flat over his wither lay the intense + form of his rider—a camel's hump—a part of the racing + mechanism, unimpeding the weary horse in the masterly rigidity of his body + and legs; but the arms, even the shoulders of the great jockey thrust his + mount forward, always forward—forward at each stride; fairly lifting + him, till the very lurches of Lauzanne carried him toward the goal. And at + his girth raced the compact bay son of Hanover; galloping, galloping with + a stout heart and eager reaching head; straining every sinew, and muscle, + and nerve; in his eye the brave desire, not to be denied. + </p> + <p> + Ah, gallant little bay! On his back was the offspring of unthinking + parents—a pin-head. Perhaps the Evil One had ordained him to the + completion of Langdon's villainy with Lauzanne. At the pinch his judgment + had flown—he was become an instrument of torture; with whip and spur + he was throwing away the race. Each time he raised his arm and lashed, his + poor foolish body swayed in the saddle, and The Dutchman was checked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if he would but sit still!” Porter cried, as he watched the equine + battle. + </p> + <p> + The stand mob clamored as though Nero sat there and lions had been loosed + in the arena. The strange medley of cries smote on the ears of Allis. How + like wild beasts they were, how like wolves! She closed her eyes, for she + was weary of the struggle, and listened. Yes, they were wolves leaping at + the throat of her father, and joying in the defeat of Lucretia. + Deep-throated howls from full-chested wolves: “Come on you, Lauzanne! On, + Westley, on! The Bay wins! The Dutchman—The Dutchman for a + thousand!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take—” + </p> + <p> + But the new voice was stilled into nothingness by the shrill, reawakening + falsetto. “Go on, Westley! Lauzanne wins—wins—wins!” it seemed + to repeat. Allis sank back into her seat. She knew it was all over. The + shuffle of many feet hastening madly, the crash of eager heels down the + wooden steps, a surging, pushing, as the wolf-pack blocked each passage in + its thirstful rush for the gold it had won, told her that the race was + over. + </p> + <p> + No one knew which horse had won. Presently a quiet came over the mob like + a lull in a storm. Silently they waited for the winning number to go up. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it's a dead heat,” said Porter; and Allis noted how calm and + restful his voice sounded after the exultant babel of the hoarse-throated + watchers. + </p> + <p> + “Where was Lucretia, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Third,” he answered, laconically, schooling his voice to indifference. “I + hope it's a dead heat, for if Lauzanne gets the verdict I've got to take + him. I don't want him after that run; they made him a present of the race + at the start, and he only just squeezed home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why must you take the horse, father, if you don't want him? I don't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose there's no law for it—I said I would, that's all. The + whole thing is crooked though; they stole the race from Lucretia and + planted me with a dope horse, and hanged if I don't feel like backing out. + Let Langdon go before the Stewards about the sale if he dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you give your word that you'd buy the horse, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I did; but it was a plant.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll take him, father. People say that John Porter's word is as + good as his bond; and that sounds sweeter in my ears than if I were to + hear them say that you were rich, or clever, or almost anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne gets it!” called the eager grating voice behind them. “There go + the numbers, Ned—three, five, ten; Lauzanne, The Dutchman, Lucretia. + I knew it. Dick don't make no mistakes when he's out for blood.” + </p> + <p> + “He drew it a bit fine that time,” growled Ned, still in opposition; “it + was the closest sort of a shave.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah, Lauzanne!” + </p> + <p> + Again there was more hurrying of feet as the Chestnut's backers who had + waited in the stand for the Judge's decision, hurried down to the gold + mart. + </p> + <p> + “You'll take Lauzanne, father,” Allis said, when the tumult had stilled; + “it will come out right somehow—I know it will—he'll win + again.” + </p> + <p> + John Porter stood irresolutely for a minute, not answering the girl, as + though he were loath to go close to the contaminating influence that + seemed part and parcel of Lauzanne, and which was stretching out to + envelop him. He was thinking moodily that he had played against a man who + used loaded dice, and had lost through his own rashness. He had staked so + much on the race that the loss would cut cripplingly into his affairs. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right, Allis,” he said; “a man's got to keep his word, no + matter what happens. I never owned a dope horse yet, and unless I'm + mistaken this yellow skate is one to-day. I'll take him though, girl; but + he'll get nothing but oats from me to make him gallop.” + </p> + <p> + Then Porter went resolutely down the steps, smothering in his heart the + just rebellion that was tempting him to repudiate his bargain. + </p> + <p> + As he reached the lawn, a lad swung eagerly up the steps, threw his eye + inquiringly along row after row of seats until it stopped at Allis. Then + he darted to her side. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Sis—been looking for you. Where's Dad?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to get Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne!” and the boy's eyes that were exactly like her own, opened wide + in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; father bought him.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce! I say, Allis, that won't do. Don't you know there's something + wrong about this race? I just saved myself. I backed the little mare for a + V—then I heard something. This Langdon's a deuce of a queer fish, I + can tell you. I wonder Crane has anything to do with him, for the Boss is + straight as they make them.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you back Lauzanne then, Alan?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet I did; quick, too; and was hunting all over for the gov'nor to + tell him. You see, I know Langdon—he comes to the bank sometimes. + He's that slick he'll hardly say 'Good-day,' for fear of giving something + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how did you—how did people know there was something wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a woman, of course—she blabbed. I think she's Dick Langdon's + sister, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush-hh!” and Allis laid her hand on the boy's arm, indicating with her + eyes the woman in the seat behind. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better go and tell father—” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't bother; he knows. It's a question of honor. Father said he'd + buy the horse, and he's gone to make good.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't; that sort of thing will break a man.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a good way to go broke, Alan. Perhaps we'd all be richer if it + wasn't so strong in the Porter blood; but all the same, brother, you do + just as father is doing to-day—always keep your word. I tell you + what it is, boy”—and her face lighted up as she spoke—“father + is a hero—that's what he is; he's just the biggest, bravest man ever + lived. He couldn't do a mean act. How did you get away from the bank, + Alan?” she said, changing the subject; “I didn't know you were coming + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Mortimer was light, and took on my work. He's a good sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he bet?” + </p> + <p> + The boy laughed. “Mortimer bet? That's rich. We call him 'Old Solemnity' + in the bank; but he doesn't mean any harm by it—he just can't help + it, that's all. If he had a stiff ruff about his neck, you could pose him + for a picture of one of those old Dutch burgomasters.” + </p> + <p> + “He's doing your work, and you're making fun of him, boy.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't make fun of him, at him, or with him; he's a grave digger; but + you can trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “That's better.” + </p> + <p> + “If I'd killed a man and needed a friend to help me out, I'd go straight + to Mortimer; he's got that kind of eyes. Do you know why he's doing my + work to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you're away, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you recited that doggerel about The Run of Crusader.” + </p> + <p> + “Alan! I've never spoken to Mr. Mortimer.” + </p> + <p> + “That's why he choked the butcher the night of the concert—I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “You're talking nonsense, Alan.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not, I know when a man's interested. Hello. Blest if the Boss isn't + coming this way—there's Crane. See, Allis? I've a notion to tell him + that his trainer is a crook.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won't, Alan—you're too young to gabble.” + </p> + <p> + Philip Crane had evidently intended going higher up in the stand, but his + eye lighting on the brother and sister, he stopped, and turned in to where + they were sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Miss Porter.” + </p> + <p> + Allis started. Was the stand possessed of unpleasant voices? There was a + metallic ring in Crane's voice that affected her disagreeably. He was + almost a stranger to her; she hardly remembered ever having spoken to him. + </p> + <p> + He turned and nodded pleasantly to Alan, saying, “May I take this seat? + I'm tired. The Cashier let you oft for the day, eh?” he continued. “Came + up to see your father's mare run, I suppose—I'm deuced sorry she was + beaten.” + </p> + <p> + “What are they waiting for—why have they taken the horses' numbers + down again? Are they trying to steal the race from Lauzanne now?” It was + the woman's voice behind them, petulantly exclaiming. + </p> + <p> + Crane turned in his seat, looked over his shoulder, and raised his hat. + </p> + <p> + “The impatient lady is my trainer's sister,” he explained in a modulated + tone to Allis. “A trainer is quite an autocrat, I assure you, and one must + be very careful not to forget any of the obvious courtesies.” + </p> + <p> + Allis wondered why he should find it necessary to make any explanation at + all. + </p> + <p> + “I want to thank you, Miss Porter, for that reading about Crusader.” + </p> + <p> + Allis's eyes opened wide. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was there,” Crane added, answering the question that was in them. + </p> + <p> + As he said this a man came hurriedly up the steps, spoke to a policeman on + guard, and searched the faces with his eyes. Catching sight of Crane, he + came quickly forward and whispered something in his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, I must go—I'm wanted,” Crane said to Allis. + </p> + <p> + As he turned, the Trainer's sister spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Mr. Crane—there's something going on up in the + Stewards' Stand?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy there's an objection, though I don't know anything about it,” he + answered, as he went down the steps with the messenger. + </p> + <p> + Allis breathed more freely when he had gone. Somehow his presence had + oppressed her; perhaps it was the fierce stephanotis that came in clouds + from the lady behind that smothered her senses. Crane had said nothing—just + an ordinary compliment. Like an inspiration it came to the girl what had + affected her so disagreeably in Crane—it was his eyes. They were + hard, cold, glittering gray eyes, looking out from between partly closed + eyelids. Allis could see them still. The lower lids cut straight across; + it was as though the eyes were peeping at her over a stone wall. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you about Crusader?” Alan said, triumphantly. “There's + another.” + </p> + <p> + “Alan!” + </p> + <p> + “I wondered why Mr. Crane was so deuced friendly; but there's nothing to + get cross about, girl, he's a fine old chap, and got lots of wealth.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned forward till he was close to his sister's ear, and added, in a + whisper, “Her ladyship behind, Belle Langdon, is trying to hook him. Phew!—but + she's loud. But I'm off—I'm going to see what the row is about.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + When John Porter left the stand, the horses had just cantered back to + weigh in. The jockeys, one after another, with upraised whip, had saluted + the Judge, received his nod to dismount, pulled the saddles from their + steeds, and, in Indian file, were passing over the scales. As Lucretia was + led away, Porter turned into the paddock. He saw that Langdon was waiting + for him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he won, just as I said he would,” declared the latter; “you've got + a good horse cheap. You'd ought to've had a bet down on him, an' won him + out.” + </p> + <p> + “He won,” answered Porter, looking straight into the other's shifty eyes, + “but he's a long way from being a good horse—no dope horse is a good + horse.” + </p> + <p> + “What're you givin' me?” demanded Langdon, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Just what every blackguard ought to have—the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “By God!” the Trainer began, in fierce blasphemy, but John Porter took a + step nearer, and his gray eyes pierced the other man's soul until it + shriveled like a dried leaf, and turned its anger into fear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you want to crawl—if you don't want to take Lauzanne—” + </p> + <p> + But Porter again interrupted Langdon—-“I said I'd take the horse, + and I will; but don't think that you're fooling me, Mr. Langdon. You're a + blackguard of the first water. Thank God, there are only a few parasites + such as you are racing—it's creatures like you that give the sport a + black eye. If I can only get at the bottom of what has been done to-day, + you'll get ruled off, and you'll stay ruled off. Now turn Lauzanne over to + Andy Dixon, and come into the Secretary's office, where I'll give you a + check for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll settle about the horse now, an' there'll be somethin' to + settle between us, John Porter, at some other time and some other place,” + blustered Langdon, threateningly. + </p> + <p> + Porter looked at him with a half-amused, half-tolerant expression on his + square face, and said, speaking in a very dry convincing voice: “I guess + the check will close out all deals between us; it will pay you to keep out + of my way, I think.” + </p> + <p> + As they moved toward the Secretary's office, Porter was accosted by his + trainer. + </p> + <p> + “The Stewards want to speak to you, sir,” said Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “All right. Send a boy over to this man's stable for Lauzanne—I've + bought him.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer stared in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you the check when I come back,” Porter continued, speaking to + Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “There's trouble on, sir,” said Dixon, as they moved toward the Stewards' + box. + </p> + <p> + “There always is,” commented Porter, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “The Stewards think Lucretia didn't run up to her form. They've had me up, + an' her jock, McKay, is there now. Starter Carson swears he couldn't get + her away from the post—says McKay fair anchored the mare. He fined + the boy fifty dollars at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “I think they've got the wrong pig by the ear—why don't they yank + Langdon? he's at the bottom of it. It a pretty rich, Andy, isn't it? They + hit me heavy over the race, and now they'd like to rule me off for that + thief's work,” and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction + of Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, racin's hell now,” commented Dixon with laconic directness. “It + seems just no use workin' over a good horse when any mut of a crook who is + takin' a turn at plungin' can get at the boy. I believe Boston Bill's game + of gettin' a straight boy to play, an' lettin' the horses go hang, is the + proper racket.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a good boy is better than a good horse nowadays; but they're like + North Poles—hard to come by.” + </p> + <p> + “Some mug give the Stewards a yarn that you'd bought Lauzanne, sir, an' + sez that's why you didn't win with the mare.” + </p> + <p> + Porter stopped, and gasped in astonishment. What next? + </p> + <p> + “You see,” continued Dixon, apologetically, “I didn't know you was meanin' + to buy that skate, so I says it was all a damned lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Things are mixed, Andy, ain't they?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not—I didn't mention it to you—it was all a fluke. + But I don't blame you, Andy. I'll go and talk to the Stewards—they're + all right; they only want to get at the truth of it.” + </p> + <p> + As Porter went up the steps of the Stewards' Stand, he felt how like a man + mounting a scaffold he was, an innocent man condemned to be hanged for + another's crime. + </p> + <p> + The investigation had been brought about by a note one of the Stewards had + received. The sender of the missive stated in it that he had backed + Lucretia heavily, but had strong reasons for believing there was a job on. + The backer was a reliable man and asked for a fair run for his money. The + note had come too late—just as the horses were starting—to be + of avail, except as a corroboration of the suspicious features of the + race. Starter Carson's evidence as to McKay's handling of the mare + coincided with the contents of the note. Then there was the fact of + Porter's having bought Lauzanne. The Stewards did not know the actual + circumstances of the sale, but had been told that Lucretia's owner had + acquired the Chestnut before the race. Where all was suspicion, every + trivial happening was laid hold of; and Alan's trifling bet on Lauzanne + had been magnified into a heavy plunge—no doubt the father's money + had been put up by the boy. A race course is like a household, everything + is known, absolutely everything. + </p> + <p> + Porter was aghast. Were all the Furies in league against him? He was more + or less a believer in lucky and unlucky days, but he had never experienced + anything quite so bad as this. He, the one innocent man in the + transaction, having lost almost his last dollar, and having been saddled + with a bad horse, was now accused of being the perpetrator of the + villainy; and the insinuation was backed up by such a mass of + circumstantial evidence. No wonder he flushed and stood silent, lost for + words to express his indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Speak up, Mr. Porter,” said the Steward, kindly. “Those that lost on + Lucretia are swearing the mare was pulled.” + </p> + <p> + “And they're right,” blurted out Porter. “I know what the mare can do; she + can make hacks of that bunch. She was stopped, and interfered with, and + given all the worst of it from start to finish; but my money was burnt up + with the public's. I never pulled a horse in my life, and I'm too old to + begin now.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that,” declared the Steward, emphatically. “I've known you, + John Porter, for forty years, man and boy, and there never was anything + crooked. But we've got to clear this up. Racing isn't what it used to be—it's + on the square now, and we want the public to understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “What does the boy say,” asked Porter; “you've had him up?” + </p> + <p> + “He says the mare was 'helped;' that she ran like a drunken man—swayed + all over the course, and he couldn't pull her together at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he mean she was doped?” + </p> + <p> + “You've guessed it,” answered the Steward, laconically. + </p> + <p> + “That's nonsense, sir; and he knows it. Why, the little mare is as sweet + as a lamb, and as game a beast as ever looked through a bridle. Somebody + got at the boy. I can prove by Dixon that Lucretia never had a grain of + cocaine in her life—never even a bracer of whiskey—she doesn't + need it; and as for the race, I hadn't a cent on Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “But your son.” + </p> + <p> + “He had a small bet; I didn't know that, even, until they were running.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell him not to back Lucretia, for he did Lauzanne?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him not to bet at all.” + </p> + <p> + “And you played the mare yourself?” + </p> + <p> + For answer Porter showed the Steward his race programme, on which was + written the wager he had made on Lucretia, and the bookmaker's name. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Ullmer to bring his betting sheet,” the Steward said to an assistant. + </p> + <p> + On the sheet, opposite John Porter's badge number, was a bet, $10,000 to + $4,000, in the Lucretia column. + </p> + <p> + “Did this gentleman make that bet with you?” the Steward asked of Ullmer. + </p> + <p> + “He carries the number; besides I know Mr. Porter, I remember laying it to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, that will do. Hit you pretty hard,” he said, turning to + Porter. “And you hadn't a saver on Lauzanne?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “What about your buying him—is there anything in that story?” + </p> + <p> + Porter explained the purchase. The Steward nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “They seem to have been pretty sure of winning, those other people,” he + commented; “but we can't do anything to them for winning; nor about + selling you the horse, I fear; and as far as you're concerned, Lucretia + was supposed to be trying. Who gave your jockey orders?” + </p> + <p> + “Dixon. I don't interfere; he trains the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “We'd like to have Dixon up here again for a minute. I'm sorry we've had + to trouble you, Mr. Porter; I can see there is not the slightest suspicion + attaches to you.” + </p> + <p> + In answer to the Steward's query about the order to McKay, Dixon said: “I + told McKay the boss had a big bet down, and to make no mistake—no + Grand Stand finish for me. I told him to get to the front as soon as he + could, and stay there, and win by as far as he liked. I got the office + that there'd be somethin' doin' in the race, an' I told him to get out by + himself.” + </p> + <p> + After Dixon was dismissed, the Stewards consulted for a minute, with the + result that McKay was suspended for the balance of the meeting, pending a + further investigation into his methods. + </p> + <p> + * * * * * * * * * * * + </p> + <p> + During the carpeting of Porter and Dixon, a sea of upturned faces, + furrowed by lines of anxious interest, had surrounded the Judge's box. + Wave on wave the living waters reached back over the grassed lawn to the + betting ring. An indefinable feeling that something was wrong had crept + into the minds of the waiting people, tense with excitement. + </p> + <p> + As the horses had flashed past the post, and, after a brief wait for + decision, Lauzanne's number had gone up, his backers had hastened eagerly + to the money mart, and lined up in waiting rows behind the bookmakers' + stands. There they waited, fighting their impatient souls into submission, + for the brief wait would end in the acquiring of gold. Why did not the + stentorian-voiced crier send through the ring the joyful cry of “All + right!” The minutes went by, and the delay became an age. A whisper + vibrated the throng, as a breeze stirs slender branches, that the winner + had been disqualified—that there had been an objection. First one + dropped out of line; then another; one by one, until all stood, an army of + expectant speculators, waiting for the verdict that had its birthplace up + in that tiny square building, the Stewards' Stand. + </p> + <p> + “It's over the pulling of Lucretia,” a man said, simply to relieve his + strained feelings. + </p> + <p> + “It was the most barefaced job I ever saw,” declared another; “it's even + betting the stable gets ruled off.” He had backed Porter's mare, and was + vindictive. + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life,” sneered a Tout, wolfishly; “a big owner always gets + off. The jock'll get it in the neck if they've been caught.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't they pay?” whined the fourth. “What's the pulling of the mare + got to do with it? The best horse won.” He was a backer of Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + “Bet yer life the bookies won't part till the numbers of the placed horses + an' riders are up on that board again. They've run them down, don't you + see?” chimed in the Tout. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take two to one The Dutchman gets it,” said a backer of that horse. + “There's a job on, and they'll both get disqualified. Porter's kid won ten + thousand over Lauzanne, and that's why they stiffened the mare.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what the Public are up against in this game,” sneered the backer + of Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “And the jock'll have to stand the shot; I know how it goes,” asserted the + Tout. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know,” drawled Lauzanne's backer. The racing men within + earshot smiled, for the Tout had been a jockey before his license had been + taken away for crooked work. + </p> + <p> + “Hello! here it comes,” cried Lauzanne's backer, as a fat, red-faced man + came swiftly down from the Stewards' Stand, ran to the betting ring, and + pushing his way through the crowd, called with the roar of a gorilla: + “Al-l-l right! Lauzanne, first! The Dutchman, second! Lucretia, third! + They're al-l-l weighed in!” + </p> + <p> + A Niagara of human beings poured from the lawn to the ring; they ran as + though the course was on fire and they sought to escape. + </p> + <p> + “What about Lucretia?” some one asked. + </p> + <p> + “They've broke McKay,” the red-faced crier answered; “suspended him.” + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” sneered the Tout, maliciously; “it's the under dog + gets the worst of it every time.” + </p> + <p> + * * * * * * * * * * * + </p> + <p> + A Celt, is an outspoken man when the prod of his hot temper has loosened + his tongue, and Mike Gaynor was a Celt in excess. + </p> + <p> + The injustice that had come to his benefactor, John Porter, had stirred a + tempest in his Irish soul. A fierce exclamation of profane wrath had gone + up from him as he watched the bad start from over the paddock rail. + </p> + <p> + A misguided retribution led Starter Carson to pass from the Judges' Stand + after the race, along the narrow passage between the Club Stand and the + course, to the paddock gate. There he met Mike, who forthwith set to + flailing him. + </p> + <p> + “Did ye notice a little mare called Lucretia in that race, Mr. Carson—did + ye see anythin' av her at all down at the post?” + </p> + <p> + Carson's eyes twinkled uneasily. Years of starting had taught him that + self-control was nine out of ten rules which should govern the Starter's + actions. + </p> + <p> + “Was there anythin' th' mather wit' yer ancestor's eyes that ye come by, + Mister Carson?” + </p> + <p> + The Starter made answer with a smile of good-humored tolerance. But Mike + was only warming up; the hot blood was stinging his quick brain, and his + sharp tongue galloped on with unbridled irresponsibility. With the deep + pathos of scorn he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Ye'r Carson the Stharter—Mister Carson! S'help me, Bob! ye couldn't + sthart a sthreet car down hill wit' bot' brakes off!” + </p> + <p> + Carson ceased to smile; the smile had passed to other faces, the owners of + which were listening with fiendish delight to the castigation. + </p> + <p> + Some one touched Mike on the arm, saying, “Come over into the paddock, + Gaynor; you're barkin' up the wrong tree.” It was Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “Bot' t'umbs up! This game's too tough fer me—I'll ship me plugs to + Gravesend. Whin a straight man like Porther gets a deal av this kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Mike,” interrupted Dixon; “let it drop.” + </p> + <p> + Carson opened his lips to retort, then closed them tight, set his square + jaw firmly, turned on his heel, and walked away. + </p> + <p> + “What d' ye think av it, b'ys?” appealed Mike to the others. + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong, Gaynor,” declared a thin, tall, hawkfaced man, who was in + his shirt sleeves; “my boy was in that run, and it isn't Carson's fault at + all. It's dope, Mike. Lauzanne was fair crazy with it at the post; and + McKay was dead to the world on the little mare—the Starter couldn't + get him away.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, Mike,” added Dixon; “Carson fined the boy fifty, an' the + Stewards set him down.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that straight goods?” asked Gaynor, losing confidence in the justice + of his wordy assault. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you're wrong, Mike,” they all asserted. + </p> + <p> + In five minutes Gaynor had found Carson, and apologized with the full + warmth of a penitent Irishman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + For a week John Porter brooded over Lucretia's defeat, and, worse still, + over the unjust suspicion of the unthinking public. Touched in its pocket, + the public responded in unsavory references to Lucretia's race. Porter + loved a good horse, and liked to see him win. The confidence of the public + in his honesty was as great a reward as the stakes. The avowed principle + of racing, that it improved the breed of horses, was but a silent + sentiment with him. He believed in it, but not being rich, raced as a + profession, honestly and squarely. He had asserted more than once that if + he were wealthy he would never race a two-year-old. But his income must be + derived from his horses, his capital was in them; and just at this time he + was sitting in a particularly hard streak of bad luck; financially, he was + in a hole; morally, he stood ill with the public. + </p> + <p> + His reason told him that the ill-fortune could not last; he had one great + little mare, good enough to win, an honest trainer—there the + inventory stopped short; his stock in trade was incomplete—he had + not a trusty jockey. In his dilemma he threshed it out with Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “How's the mare doing, Andy?” he asked. “What did the race do to her?” + </p> + <p> + “She never was better in her life,” the Trainer answered, proudly. Then he + added, to ease the troubled look that was in the gray eyes of his master, + “She'll win next time out, sir—I'll gamble my shirt on that.” + </p> + <p> + “Not with another McKay up.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she's good enough for the 'Eclipse,' sir, dashed if I don't. I + worked her the distance, and she shaded the time they made last year.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use,” said Porter, dejectedly; “where'll we get a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lots of the boys are straight.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” Porter answered, “but all the straight ones are tied hand + and foot to the big stables.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinkin' it over,” hazarded Dixon, tentatively—“Boston + Bill's got a good lad—there's none of them can put it over him, an' + his boss ain't got nothin' in the 'Eclipse,' I know.” + </p> + <p> + “That means the same old game, Andy; we nurse the horse, get him into + condition, place him where he can win, and then turn him over to a plunger + and take the small end of the divide. Boston Bill would back her off the + boards. + </p> + <p> + “The stake'd mount up to seven or eight thousand, an' the win would square + the little mare with the public.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'd do that, if I didn't land a dollar,” said Porter. “Andy, it hurt + me more to see the filly banged about there in the ruck than it did giving + up the money.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer smiled. With him this was unusual; there was a popular + superstition that he never smiled except when one of his horses won. But + his heart expanded at Porter's words, for he, too, was fond of the little + mare. + </p> + <p> + Then Porter spoke again, abruptly, and fast, as though he feared he might + change his mind: “They downed me last trip, Dixon—I guess I'm + getting a bit slow in my paces; and you do just as you like—arrange + with Boston Bill if you think it's good business. He makes a specialty of + winning races—not pulling horses, and we need a win, too, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. We'll land that stake; an' p'raps the sharp division'll + take a tumble. I'll bet a dollar they'll go for The Dutchman—he ran + a great race the other day, an' he's in the Eclipse—if they start + him. Lurcetia's right on edge, she's lookin' for the key hole, an' may go + back if we don't give her a race. We'd better get the money for the oat + bill while it's in sight. She oughter be a long price in the bettin', + too,” continued Dixon, meditatively; “the public soon sour on a beaten + horse. You'll have a chance to get even.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that part of it,” muttered Porter; “I'm in the black books + now. People have no reason at all—no sense; they've got it into + their heads that dirty job was of my making, and if the filly starts at + ten to one, and I win a bit, they'll howl.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't make a success of racin', sir, an' run your stable for the + public—they don't pay the feed bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're right, Dixon,” answered Porter. + </p> + <p> + For immediate financial relief Porter knew that he must look to Lucretia—no + other horse in his stable was ready to win; but more immediately he must + arrange certain money matters with his banker, who was Philip Crane. To + Porter, Crane had been a tolerant financier, taking the man's honesty + liberally as a security; not but what Ringwood had been called upon as a + tangible asset. So that day, following his conversation with Dixin, the + master of Ringwood had an interview with his banker. It was natural that + he should speak of his prospects—his hopes of winning the Eclipse + with Lucretia, and, corroboratively, mention her good trial. + </p> + <p> + “I think that's a good mare of yours, Mr. Porter,” said Crane, + sympathetically. “I only race, myself in a small way, just for the outdoor + relaxation it gives me, you know, so I'm not much of a judge. The other + horse you bought—the winner of the race, I mean, Lauzanne—will + also help put you right, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + Porter hesitated, uneasily. He disliked to talk about a man behind his + back, but he knew that Langdon trained for Crane, and longed to give the + banker a friendly word of warning; he knew nothing of the latter's + manipulation of the trainer. + </p> + <p> + With a touch of rustic quaintness he said, with seeming irrelevance to the + subject, “Have you ever picked wild strawberries in the fields, Mr. + Crane?” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” answered the other man, showing no surprise at the break, for + life in Brookfield had accustomed him to disjointed deals. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever notice that going down wind you could see the berries + better?” + </p> + <p> + Crane thought for a moment. “Yes, that's right; coming up wind the leaves + hid them.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” commented Porter; “and when a man's got a trainer he's nearly + always working up wind with him.” + </p> + <p> + “The trainer hides things?” queried Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Some do. But the outsiders walking down wind see the berries.” + </p> + <p> + And the Banker pondered for a minute, then he said, “Whose garden are the + berries in, Mr. Porter, yours or mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've always been a good friend of mine, Mr. Crane,” Porter + answered, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the other, meditatively; “I understand. I'm much obliged. If + I thought for an instant that any trainer wasn't dealing perfectly + straightforward with me, I'd have nothing more to do with him—nothing + whatever.” + </p> + <p> + Crane sat looking through the open window at John Porter as the latter + went down the street. About his thin-lipped, square-framed mouth hovered + an expression that might have been a smile, or an intense look of + interest, or a touch of avaricious ferocity. The gray eyes peeped over the + wall of their lower lids, and in them, too, was the unfathomable + something. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he repeated, as though Porter still stood beside him, “if Langdon + tried to deceive me, I'd crush him. Poor old Porter with his story of the + strawberries! If he were as clever as he is honest, he wouldn't have been + stuck with a horse like Lauzanne. I told Langdon to get rid of that + quitter, but I almost wish he'd found another buyer for him. The horse + taint is pretty strong in that Porter blood. How the girl said that line, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'And a hush came over the clamorous mob; + Like a babe on his neck I was sobbing.' +</pre> + <p> + She's cleverer than her father.” + </p> + <p> + Crane sat for an hour. Porter had vanished from the landscape, but still + the Banker's thoughts clung to his personality as though the peeping eyes + saw nothing else. + </p> + <p> + From the time of the first loan obtained upon Ringwood, Crane had coveted + the place. It appealed to him with its elm-bordered, sweeping driveway, + leading from gate to old colonial residence. Its thick-grassed fields and + running water made it just the place for a man who tempered his passion + for racing with common sense. And it would pass from Porter's hands right + enough—Crane knew that. Porter might call it ill luck, but he, Crane + the Banker, knew it was the lack of something, the inability to make + money. + </p> + <p> + “Made music to me on Crusader.” Yes, that was it. With the Porters it was + jingle of spurs, and stride of the horse. All very fine in theory, but + racing, as he looked at it, was a question of proper odds, and many other + things connected with the betting ring. + </p> + <p> + Why did the girl, Allis, with her jingling verse creep into his mind. + Perhaps it was because she was so different from the woman who was always + steeped in stephanotis. Of the one there was only the memory of an + unmodulated voice and oppressive perfume; in truth, of the other there was + not much more—just a pair of big, blue-gray, honest eyes, that + somehow stared at him fearlessly, and withal with a great sweetness. + </p> + <p> + Crane suddenly chuckled in dry disapprobation of himself. Grotesquely + enough, all at once he remembered that he was forty—that very day + forty. He ran his hand over his waistcoat, dipped two fingers into the + pocket and drew out a cigar. Ordinarily the face of an alabaster Buddha + was mobile and full of expression compared with Crane's. His mind worked + behind a mask, but it worked with the clean-cut precision of clockwork. + When his thoughts had crystallized into a form of expression, Crane was + very apt to be exactly right in his deductions. + </p> + <p> + Save for the curling smoke that streamed lazily upward from his cigar one + might have thought the banker fast asleep in his chair, so still he sat, + while his mind labored with the quiescent velocity of a spinning top. He + had won a big stake over Lauzanne's victory. The race had helped beggar + Porter, and brought Ringwood nearer his covetous grasp. If Porter failed + to win the Eclipse, his finances would be in a pitiable state; he might + even have to sell his good filly Lucretia. That would be a golden + opportunity. + </p> + <p> + From desiring the farm, insensibly Crane drifted into coveting the mare. + He fell to wondering whether The Dutchman might not beat Lucretia. A + question of this sort was one of the few he discussed with Langdon. Crane + had smoked his cigar out, had settled the trend of many things, and + developed the routine for his chessmen. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give Porter rope enough, in the way of funds, to tangle himself, and + in the meantime I'll run up to New York and see what Langdon thinks about + The Dutchman,” was the shorthand record of his thoughts as he threw away + the end of his cigar, took his hat, and passed out of the bank. + </p> + <p> + That evening he talked with his trainer. + </p> + <p> + “What should win the Eclipse, Langdon?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know what'll start,” began the Trainer, with diplomatic + caution, running over in his mind the most likely twoyear-olds. + </p> + <p> + “Would Porter's mare have a chance?” + </p> + <p> + “I think she would. I hear somethin' about a trial she gave them good + enough to win—if I could find out her time—Porter don't talk + much, an' Andy Dixon's like a clam. There's a boy in the stable, Shandy, + that I might pump—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't bother, Mr. Langdon; I dislike prying into anybody's business.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer stared, but he didn't know that Porter had told Crane all + about the trial, and so the latter could afford to take a virtuous pose. + </p> + <p> + “Has The Dutchman a look in?” continued Crane. + </p> + <p> + “On his runnin' he has; he wasn't half fit, an' got as bad a ride as ever + I see in my life. The race ought to be between 'em—I ain't seen no + two-year-olds out to beat that pair.” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought The Dutchman would win I'd buy him. I like game horses, and + men, too—that'll take the gaff and try.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as the owner'd sell him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the buying of Silver Foot, Langdon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a good horse.” + </p> + <p> + “The best handicap horse in the country, an' he was sold for a song—seven + thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Less than that, the first time,” corrected Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they stole him from old Walters; made him believe the horse was no + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” commented Crane; “I've heard that story,” and his smooth, + putty-like face remained blank and devoid of all meaning, as his eyes + peered vacantly over their lower lids at the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + Langdon waited for the other to continue, but the Banker seemed wrapped up + in a retrospect of the Silver Foot deal. + </p> + <p> + “I know Billy Smith, that trains The Dutchman,” hazarded Langdon; “he's a + boozer.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that—I mean, that you know Smith,” declared Crane. “I + happen to know the owner—his name is Baker. His racing is what might + be called indiscriminate, and like men of that class he sometimes blunders + upon a good horse without knowing it; and I doubt very much but that if he + knew all about the other race—how bad Lauzanne really is; how the + mare, Lucretia—well—got shut off, and couldn't get through her + horses, say—of course his own trainer, Smith, would have to tell + these things, you understand. In fact, if he knew the exact truth, he + might take a reasonable offer for The Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon nodded approvingly. He loved his subtle master; cards up his + sleeves tingled his nerves, and loaded dice were a joy for evermore. + </p> + <p> + Crane proceeded to unwind the silken cord. “Naturally Smith would hate to + lose a fair horse out of his stable, and would, perhaps, attempt to thwart + any deal; so I think you might remunerate him for his loss.” + </p> + <p> + “When Silver Foot was sold, they gave him a bad trial before the sale—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not interested in Silver Foot,” interrupted Crane; “and I shouldn't + like to have anything—well, I don't want my name associated with + anything shady, you understand, Langdon? You are to buy The Dutchman as + cheap as you can, and run him as your own horse in the Eclipse. I think + Porter's mare will win it, so we needn't lose anything over The Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon started. With all his racing finesse he was a babe. The smooth, + complacent-faced man in front of him made him realize this. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he gasped, “there was a row over Lauzanne's race. If The Dutchman + runs in my name, an' a lot o' mugs play him—it's dollars to + doughnuts they will—an' he gets beat, there'll be a kick. I can't + take no chances of bein' had up by the Stewards.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit,” replied Crane, calmly. “Supposing Porter's mare worked five + and a half furlongs in 1.07, how would she go in the Eclipse?” + </p> + <p> + “She'd win in a walk; unless The Dutchman was at his best when he might + give her an argument.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I thought The Dutchman could beat the mare, I'd make him win, if + he never carried the saddle again,” declared Crane, almost fiercely. Then + he interrupted himself, breaking off abruptly. Very seldom indeed it was + that Crane gave expression to sentiment; his words were simply a motor for + carrying the impact of his well-thought-out plans to the executive agents. + “It will be doing Porter a good turn to-to-that is, if Lucretia wins. I + fancy he needs a win. Bad racing luck will hardly stop the mare this time—not + twice in succession you know, Langdon,” and he looked meaningly at his + jackal. “You buy The Dutchman, and be good to him.” + </p> + <p> + He laid marked emphasis on the words “be good to him.” The trainer + understood. It meant that he was to send The Dutchman to the post half + fit, eased up in his work; then the horse could try, and the jockey could + try, and, in spite of it all, the fast filly of Porter's would win, and + his subtle master, Crane, would have turned the result to his own benefit. + Why should he reason, or object, or counterplot, or do anything but just + follow blindly the dictates of this past master in the oblique game he + loved so well? Crane wanted The Dutchman because he was a good horse; he + also wanted to have a heavy plunge on Lucretia; but with the son of + Hanover in other hands the good thing might not come off. Somehow Langdon + felt miserably inefficient in the presence of Crane—his self-respect + suffered; the other man's mind was so overmastering, even to detail. The + Trainer felt a sudden desire to right himself in Crane's estimation, give + some evidence of ordinary intelligence, or capability to carry out his + mission. “If The Dutchman's owner was made to think that the horse was + likely to break down, throw a splint, or—” + </p> + <p> + But Crane interrupted him in his quiet, masterful way, saying: “I know + nothing of horse trading; I simply furnish the money, loan it to you, my + dear Mr. Langdon, and you buy the animal in your own best way. You will + pay for him with a check on my bank.” No man could close out an interview + so effectually as Crane. As Langdon slipped away as though he had been + thrust bodily from the room, there was in his mind nothing but admiration + of his master—the man who backed up his delicate diplomacy with + liberal capital. + </p> + <p> + In spite of what he had said to Langdon, there was little doubt in Crane's + mind but that the son of Hanover was a better horse than Lucretia. A + sanguine owner—even Porter was one at times—was so apt to + overrate everything in his own stable, especially if he had bred the + animal himself, as Porter had Lucretia. To buy The Dutchman and back him + on such short ownership to beat Lucretia would have been the policy of a + very ordinary mind indeed; he would simply be fencing, with rapiers of + equal length, with John Porter. + </p> + <p> + Crane had attained to his success by thinking a little deeper than other + men, going a little beyond them in the carefulness of his plans. He knew + intuitively—in fact Porter's unguarded conversation had suggested it—that + Lucretia's owner meant to win himself out of his difficult position by + backing the little mare heavily for the Eclipse, expecting to get his + money on at good odds. By owning The Dutchman Crane could whipsaw the + situation; forestall Porter in the betting by backing Lucretia down to a + short price himself, and have Jakey Faust lay with a full vigor against + the Hanover colt. He would thus confine Porter to stake money, and + Ringwood would still lie chained to his bank by the golden links he had + forged on the place. + </p> + <p> + Almost insensibly, side by side with this weed of villainy there was + growing in Crane's mind a most peculiar flower of sentiment, a love + blossom. Strive as he would—though the apathy of his rebellion + somewhat startled him—Crane could not obliterate from his thoughts + the wondrous gray eyes of Allis Porter. Even after Langdon was gone, the + atmosphere of the room still smirched by unholy underplay, thoughts of the + girl came to Crane, jostling and elbowing the evil conceptions of his + restless mind. Grotesquely incongruous as it was, Crane was actually in + love; but the love flower, pure enough in itself, had rooted in marvelous + ground. His passion was absolutely love, nothing else—love at first + sight. But he was forty, and the methods of that many years must still + govern his actions. Instinctively he felt that he must win the girl by + diplomacy; and Crane's idea of diplomacy was to get a man irrevocably in + his power. If John Porter were indebted to him beyond redemption, if he + practically owned Ringwood, why should he not succeed with Allis? All his + life he had gone on in just that way, breaking men, for broken men were + beyond doubt but potter's clay. + </p> + <p> + Langdon bought The Dutchman. What methods he employed Crane took no pains + to discover; in fact, stopped Langdon abruptly when he sought to enlarge + on the difficulties he had overcome in the purchase. The price was the + only item that interested Crane—seven thousand dollars; that + included everything—even the secret service money. + </p> + <p> + The horse acquired, Crane had one more move to make; he sent for Jakey + Faust, the Bookmaker. Faust and Crane had a reciprocal understanding. When + the Bookmaker needed financial assistance he got it from the Banker; when + Crane needed a missionary among the other bookmakers, Faust acted for him. + </p> + <p> + “I want to back Lucretia for the 'Eclipse,”' Crane said to the bookmaker. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia,” ejaculated Faust. “She'll have a rosy time beatin' Dutchy on + their last race. They'll put a better boy up on the colt next time, an' he + ought to come home all by himself” “Yes, a fairish sort of a jock will + have the mount I think-Westley's a good enough boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Westley?” came wonderingly from Faust. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Langdon owns The Dutchman now.” + </p> + <p> + The Cherub pursed his fat round lips in a soft whistle of enlightenment. + It had staggered him at first that Crane, for whose acumen he had a + profound respect, should have intended such a hazardous gamble; now he saw + light. + </p> + <p> + “Then my book is full on the Porter mare?” he said, inquiringly. Crane + nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “An' I lay against the Hanover colt?” + </p> + <p> + Again Crane nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It's not bookmaking,” continued Faust. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a bookmaker,” retorted Crane. “And see here, Faust,” he + continued, “when you've got my money on the Porter mare—when and how + I leave to you—I want you to cut her price short—do you + understand? Make her go to the post two to one on, if you can; don't + forget that.” + </p> + <p> + “If the mare goes wrong?” objected Faust. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think she will, but you needn't be in a hurry—there's + plenty of time.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the limit?” asked Faust. + </p> + <p> + “I want her backed down to even money at least,” Crane answered; “probably + ten thousand will do it. At any rate you can go that far.” + </p> + <p> + Then for a few days Langdon prepared his new horse for the Eclipse + according to his idea of Crane's idea; and Dixon rounded Lucretia to in a + manner that gladdened John Porter's heart. They knew nothing of anything + but that Lucretia was very fit, that they had Boston Bill's jockey to ride + straight and honest for them, and that with a good price against the mare + they would recoup all their losses. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + The day of the race when John Porter went into the betting ring he was + confronted with even money about his mare. If he had read on the ring + blackboard a notice that she was dead, he would not have been more + astonished. He fought his way back to the open of the paddock without + making a bet. + </p> + <p> + “Even money!” ejaculated Dixon when his owner told him of the ring + situation, “why, they're crazy. Who's doin' it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the public,” declared Porter, “for I was there just after the first + betting. It must be your friend Boston Bill that has forestalled us; + nobody else knew of the mare's trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life, Mr. Porter; Boston plays fair. D'ye think he could live + at this game if he threw down his friends?” + </p> + <p> + “But nobody else even knew that we'd got a good boy for the mare.” + </p> + <p> + “It don't make no difference,” curtly answered Dixon; “it's a million + dollars to a penny whistle that Boston hasn't a dollar on yet. Our + agreement was that he'd send in his commission when they were at the post, + an' his word's like your own, sir, as solid as a judge's decision. It's + some one else. There's somebody behind that damned Langdon—he's not + clever enough for all this. D'you know that The Dutchman's runnin' in + Langdon's name to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “He is?' + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he's supposed to own him.” + </p> + <p> + “But what's that got to do with Lucretia's price?” + </p> + <p> + “It means that we're goin' to be allowed to win. The other day they laid + against her, an' she got beat; to-day they're holdin' her out, so I + suppose she'll win, but somebody else gets the benefit.” + </p> + <p> + “Gad! that Langdon must be a crook,” muttered Porter. “I'm going to speak + to my friend Crane about him again. No honest man should have horses in + his stable.” + </p> + <p> + “That they shouldn't,” asserted Dixon. “But we've got our own troubles + to-day. From what I see of this thing, I'd rather back the mare at even + money than I would if she was ten to one. If I'm any judge we're being + buncoed good and plenty.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're right Dixon. I'll go back and have a good bet down on her + at evens.” + </p> + <p> + But in five minutes Lucretia's owner was back in the paddock with the + cheerful intelligence that the mare was now three to five. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't back 'Salvator' among a lot of cart horses at that price,” + commented Dixon; “leave it alone, an' we'll go for the Stake. We're up + against it good and hard; somebody seems to know more about our own horse + than we do ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I think myself that the gods are angry with us, Dixon,” said Porter + moodily; “and the mortals will be furious, too, whichever way the race + goes. They've backed the little mare at this short price no doubt, an' if + she's beaten they'll howl; if she wins they'll swear my money was on + to-day, and that I pulled her in her last race.” + </p> + <p> + John Porter sat in the Grand Stand with his usual companion, Allis, beside + him, as The Dutchman, Lucretia, and the other Eclipse horses passed down + the broad spread of the straight Eclipse course to the five-and-a-half + furlong post. + </p> + <p> + Though Porter had missed his betting, he intuitively felt the joy of an + anticipated win. Only a true lover of thoroughbreds can know anything of + the mad tumult of exultation that vibrates the heart strings as a loved + horse comes bravely, gallantly out from the surging throng of his rivals, + peerless and king of them all, stretching his tapered neck with eager + striving, and goes onward, past the tribunal, first and alone, the leader, + the winner, the one to be cheered of the many thousands wrought to frenzy + by his conquest. + </p> + <p> + “Surely Lucretia will win to-day, father—don't you think so?” asked + Allis; “I feel that she will.” + </p> + <p> + “She's got a big weight up,” he answered. “She's a little bit of a thing, + and it may drive her into the ground coming down the Eclipse hill. I + expect they'll come at a terrible jog, too; they don't often hang back on + that course.” + </p> + <p> + Now that the betting worry and the labor of getting an honest boy were + over—that the horses had gone to the post, and that the race rested + with Lucretia herself, Porter's mind had relaxed. Even at the time of the + very struggle itself tension had gone from him; he was in a meditative + mood, and spoke on, weighing the chances, with Allis as audience. + </p> + <p> + “But they'll have to move some to beat the little mare's trial—they'll + make it in record time if they head her, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't the horse that beat her the other day in, too, father?” + </p> + <p> + “The Dutchman-yes, but I fancy his owner is backing my mare.” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't make any difference, though; she'd beat him anyway. If I'm + any judge, he's short.” + </p> + <p> + Allis felt a rustle at her elbow as though someone wished to pass between + the seats. The faintest whiff of stephanotis came to her on the lazy + summer air. Involuntarily she turned her head and looked for the + harsh-voiced woman who had been verily steeped in the aggressive odor the + day of Lauzanne's triumph. Two burly men sat behind her. They, surely, did + not affect perfumery. Higher up the stand her eye searched—four rows + back sat the woman Alan had said was Langdon's sister. There was no + forgetting the flamboyant brilliancy of her apparel. But the almost + fancied zephyr of stephanotis was mingling with the rustle at her elbow; + she turned her head inquiringly in that direction, and Crane's eyes peeped + at her over the stone wall of their narrow lids. He was standing in the + passage just beyond her father, now looking wistfully at the vacant seat + on her left. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Miss Porter—how are you, Porter? May I sit here + with you and see Lucretia win?” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, come in!” answered Porter, frankly. + </p> + <p> + “I was sitting with some friends higher up in the stand, when I saw you + here, and thought I'd like to make one of the victorious party.” + </p> + <p> + Allis knew who the friends were; the clinging touch of stephanotis had + come with him. The discrepancy in Crane's sentiments jarred on Allis. That + other day this woman had been his trainer's sister, recognized for politic + purposes; to-day he had been sitting with “friends.” + </p> + <p> + Topping the rail in the distance, just where the course kinked a little to + the left, Allis could see the blur of many colored silks in the sunlight. + Then it seemed to flatten down almost level with the rail, as the horses + broadened out to the earth in racing spread and the riders clung low to + the galloping colts, for they had started. + </p> + <p> + “There they come,” said Crane. “What's in the lead, Porter?” Porter did + not answer. A man could have counted thirty before he said, “The + Dutchman's out in front—a length, and they're coming down the hill + like mad.” + </p> + <p> + Allis felt her heart sink. Was it to be the same old story—was there + always to be something in front of Lucretia? + </p> + <p> + “Where is your mare?” Crane asked. + </p> + <p> + His own glass lay idly in his lap. Though he spoke of the race, it was + curious that his eyes were watching the play of Allis's features, as hope + and Despair fought their old human-torturing fight over again in her + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Now she's coming!” Porter's voice made Crane jump; he had almost + forgotten the race. To the close-calculating mind it had been settled days + before. The Dutchman would not win, and Lucretia was the best of the + others—why worry? + </p> + <p> + They were standing now—everybody was. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my beauty, they'll have to gallop,” Porter was saying. They were + close up, and Crane could see that Lucretia had got to the bay colt's + head, and he was dying away. He smiled cynically as he watched Westley go + to the whip on The Dutchman, with Lucretia half a length in the lead. Most + certainly Langdon was an excellent trainer; The Dutchman was just good + enough to last into second place, and Lucretia had won handily. What a win + Crane had had! + </p> + <p> + A little smothered gasp distracted his momentary thought of success, and, + turning quickly, he saw tears in a pair of gray eyes that were set in a + smiling face. + </p> + <p> + “Like a babe on his neck I was sobbing,” came back to Crane out of the + poem Allis had recited. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you, Miss Porter,” he said, raising his hat. Then he + turned, and held out his hand to her father, saying: “I'm glad you've won, + Porter—I thought you would. The Dutchman quit when he was pinched.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't the colt's fault—he was short,” said Porter. “I shouldn't + like to have horses in that man's stable—he's too good a trainer for + me.” + </p> + <p> + There was a marked emphasis on Porter's words; he was trying to give Crane + a friendly hint. + </p> + <p> + “You mean it's a case of strawberries?” questioned Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Well I know it takes a lot of candles to find a lost quarter,” remarked + Porter, somewhat ambiguously. Then he added, “I must go down to thank + Dixon; I guess this is his annual day for smiling.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming, too, father,” said Allis; “I want to thank Lucretia, and give + her a kiss, brave little sweetheart.” + </p> + <p> + After Allis and her father had left Crane, he sat for a minute or two + waiting for the crowd of people that blocked the passageway after each + race to filter down on the lawn. The way seemed clearer presently, and + Crane fell in behind a knot of loud-talking men. The two of large + proportions who had sat behind Allis, were like huge gate posts jammed + there in the narrow way. As he moved along slowly he presently had + knowledge of a presence at his side—a familiar presence. Raising his + eyes from a contemplation of the heels in front of him, he saw Belle + Langdon. She nodded with patronizing freedom. + </p> + <p> + “I lost you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I was sitting with some friends here,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw her,” she commented pointedly. + </p> + <p> + At that instant one of the stout men in front said, with a bear's snarl, + “Well that's the worst ever; I've seen some jobs in my time, but this puts + it over anything yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you back the little mare?” a thin voice squealed. It was the + 'Pout. + </p> + <p> + “Back nothin'! The last time out she couldn't untrack herself; an' today + she comes, without any pull in the weight, and wins in a walk from The + Dutchman; and didn't he beat her just as easy the other day?” + </p> + <p> + Belle Langdon looked into Crane's face, and her eyes were charged with a + look of reciprocal meaning. Crane winched. How aggressively obnoxious this + half-tutored girl, mistress of many gay frocks, could make herself! There + was an implied crime-partnership in her glance which revolted him. Dick + Langdon must have talked in his own home. Crane's conscience—well, + he hardly had one perhaps, at least it was always subevident; to put it in + another way, the retrospect of his manipulated diplomacy never bothered + him; but this gratuitous sharing in his evil triumph was disquieting. The + malicious glitter of the girl's small black eyes contrasted strongly with + the honest, unaffected look that was forever in the big tranquil eyes of + Allis. + </p> + <p> + They were just at the head of the steps, and the Tout was saying to the + fat expostulator: “I could have put you next; I steered a big bettor on—he + won a thousand over the mare. I saw Boston's betting man havin' an + old-time play, an' I knew it was a lead-pipe cinch. He's a sure thing + bettor, he is; odds don't make no difference to him, the shorter the + better—that's when his own boy's got the mount.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all right to be wise after the race,” grunted the fat man. + </p> + <p> + “G'wan! the stable didn't have a penny on Lucretia last time; an' what do + you suppose made her favorite to-day?” queried the Tout, derisively. “It + took a bar'l of money,” he continued, full of his own logical deductions, + “an' I'll bet Porter cleaned up twenty thousand. He's a pretty slick cove, + is old 'Honest John,' if you ask me.” + </p> + <p> + The girl at Crane's side cackled a laugh. “He's funny, isn't he?” she + said, nodding her big plumed hat in the direction of the man-group. + </p> + <p> + “He's a talkative fool!” muttered the Banker, shortly. “The steps are + clear on the other side, Miss Langdon, you can get down there. I've got to + go into the paddock; you'll excuse me.” + </p> + <p> + Being vicious for the fun of the thing had never appealed to Crane; he + raced as he did everything else—to win. If other men suffered, that + was the play of fate. He never talked about these things himself, almost + disliked to think of them. He turned his back on Belle Langdon and went + down the right-hand steps. On the grass sward at the bottom he stopped for + an instant to look across at the jockey board. + </p> + <p> + Three men had just came out of the refreshment bar under the stand. They + were possessed of many things; gold of the bookmakers in their pockets, + and it's ever-attendant exhilaration in their hearts. One of them had + cracked a bottle of wine at the bar, as tribute to the exceeding swiftness + of Lucretia, for he had won plentifully. At that particular stage there + was nothing left but to talk it over, and they talked. Crane, avaricious, + unhesitating in his fighting, devoid of sympathy, was not of the + eavesdropping class, but as he stood there he was as much a part of the + other men's conversation as though he had been a fourth member of the + brotherhood. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you none of these trainers ain't in it with a gentleman owner—when + he takes to racin'. When a man of brains takes to runnin' horses as a + profesh, he's gen'rally a Jim Dandy.” It was he of the wine-opening who + let fall these words of wise value. + </p> + <p> + “D'you mean Porter, Jim?” asked number two of the trio. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe that's his name. An' he put it all over Mister Langdon this trip.” + </p> + <p> + “As how?” queried the other. + </p> + <p> + “Last time he runs his mare she's got corns in her feet the whole journey, + an' all the time he owns the winner, Lauzanne, see?—buys him before + they go out. Then Langdon thinks The Dutchman's the goods, an' buys him at + a fancy price—gives a bale of long goods for him—I've got it + straight that he parted with fifteen thousand. Then the gentleman owner, + Honest John, turns the trick with Lucretia, an' makes The Dutchman look + like a sellin' plater.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Langdon'll feel pretty sick,” hazarded number three. + </p> + <p> + “I'd been watchin' the game,” continued the wine man, “an' soon's I saw a + move to-day from the wise guys in the ring, I plumped for the mare 'toot + sweet.”' + </p> + <p> + What an extraordinary thing manipulation was, Crane mused, as he listened; + also how considerable of an ass the public was in its theoretical wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Then the three men drifted away to follow some new toy balloon of erratic + possibilities, and Crane wound through the narrow passage which led to the + paddock. There he encountered Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't run a very good horse, sir,” began the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “I thought otherwise,” replied Crane, measuring the immediate vicinity of + listeners. + </p> + <p> + “I had to draw it a bit fine,” declared Langdon, with apologetic + remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + “Running second is always bad business, except in a selling race,” + retorted his master. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to think of myself,” growled Langdon. “If he'd been beat off, + there'd been trouble; the Stewards have got the other race in their crop a + bit yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not blaming you, Langdon, only I was just a trifle afraid that you + were going to beat Porter's mare. He's a friend of mine, and needed a win + badly. I'm not exactly his father confessor, but I'm his banker, which + amounts to pretty much the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the horse, sir,” asked the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “We'll see later on. Let him go easy for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what he meant by that,” Langdon mused to himself, as Crane moved + away. “He don't make nobody a present of a race for love.” Suddenly he + stumbled upon a solution of the enigma. “Well, I'm damned if that wasn't + slick; he give me the straight tip to leave Porter to him—to let him + do the plannin'; I see.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + Porter was an easy man with his horses. Though he could not afford, + because of his needs, to work out his theory that two-year-olds should not + be raced, yet he utilized it as far as possible by running them at longer + intervals than was general. + </p> + <p> + “I'll start the little mare about once more this season,” he told Dixon. + “The babes can't cut teeth, and grow, and fight it out in punishing races + on dusty hay and hard-shelled oats, when they ought to be picking grass in + an open field. She's too good a beast to do up in her young days. The + Assassins made good three-year-olds, and the little mare's dam, Maid of + Rome, wasn't much her first year out—only won once—but as a + three-year-old she won three out of four starts, and the fourth year never + lost a race. Lucretia ought to be a great mare next year if I lay her by + early this season. She's in a couple of stakes at Gravesend and + Sheepshead, and we'll just fit her into the softest spot.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Lauzanne?” asked the Trainer, “I'm afraid he's a bad horse.” + </p> + <p> + “How is he doing?” + </p> + <p> + “He's stale. He's a bad doer—doesn't clean up his oats, an' mopes.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess that killing finish with The Dutchman took the life out of him. + That sort of thing often settles a soft-hearted horse for all time.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it was the race, sir,” Dixon replied; “they just pumped the + cocaine into him till he was fair blind drunk; he must a' swallowed the + bottle. I give him a ball, a bran mash, and Lord knows what all, an' the + poison's workin' out of him. He's all breakin' out in lumps; you'd think + he'd been stung by bees.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of such a thing,” commented Porter. “A man that would dope + a two-year-old ought to be ruled off, sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you oughter make a kick, sir,” said Dixon, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't. When I squeal, Andy, it'll be when there's nothing but the voice + left. I bought a horse from a man once just as he stood. I happened to + know the horse, and said I didn't want any inspection—didn't want to + see him, but bought him, as I say, just as he stood. When I went to the + stable to get him he wasn't worth much, Andy—he was dead. Perhaps I + might have made a kick about his not standing up, but I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I'm thinkin' Lauzanne's a deuced sight worse'n a dead horse; + he'll cost more tryin' to win with him.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you're right, but he can gallop a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “When he's primed.” + </p> + <p> + “No dope for me, Andy. I never ran a dope horse and never will—I'm + too fond of them to poison them.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll freshen him up a bit, sir, and we'll give him a try in a day or two. + Would you mind puttin' him in a sellin' race?—he cost a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't win anything else, and if anybody wants to claim him they + can.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought of starting Diablo in that mile handicap; he's in pretty light. + He's about all we've got ready.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Dixon,” Porter replied. “It may be that we've broke our bad + luck with the little mare.” + </p> + <p> + They were standing in the paddock during this conversation. It was in the + forenoon; Dixon had come over to the Secretary's office to see about some + entries before twelve o'clock. When the Trainer had finished his business, + the two men walked across the course and infield to Stable 12, where Dixon + had his horses. As they passed over the “Withers Course,” as the circular + track was called, Dixon pointed to the dip near the lower far turn. + </p> + <p> + “It's a deuced funny thing,” he said, speaking reminiscently, “but that + little hollow there settles more horses than the last fifty yards of the + finish; it seems to make the soft ones remember that they're runnin' when + they get that change, an' they stop. I bet Diablo'll quit right there, + he's done it three or four times.” + </p> + <p> + “He was the making of a great horse as a two-year-old, wasn't he, Andy?” + </p> + <p> + “They paid a long price for him, if that's any line; but I think he never + was no good. It don't matter how fast a horse is if he won't try.” + </p> + <p> + “I've an idea Diablo'll be a good horse yet,” mused Porter. “You can't + make a slow horse gallop, but there's a chance of curing a horse's temper + by kind treatment. I've noticed that a squealing pig generally runs like + the devil when he takes it into his head.” + </p> + <p> + “Diablo's a squealing pig if there ever was one,” growled Dixon. + </p> + <p> + They reached the track stable, and, as if by a mutual instinct, the two + men walked on till they stood in front of Lauzanne's stall. + </p> + <p> + “He's a good enough looker, ain't he?” commented Dixon, as he dipped under + the door bar, went into the stall, and turned the horse about. “He's the + picture of his old sire, Lazzarone,” he continued, looking the horse over + critically; “an' a damned sight bigger rogue, though the old one was bad + enough. Lazzarone won the Suburban with blinkers on his head, bandages on + his legs, an' God knows what in his stomach. He was second in the Brooklyn + that same year. I've always heard he was a mule, an' I guess this one got + it all, an' none of the gallopin'.” + </p> + <p> + “How does he work with the others?” queried Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Runs a bit, an' then cuts it—won't try a yard. Of course he's sick + from the dope, an' the others are a bit fast for him. If we put him in a + sellin' race, cheap, he'd have a light weight, an' might do better.” + </p> + <p> + Porter walked on to Lucretia's stall, and the trainer continued in a + monologue to Lauzanne: “You big slob! you're a counterfeit, if there ever + was one. But I'll stand you a drink just to get rid of you; I'll put a + bottle of whisky inside of your vest day after to-morrow, an' if you win + p'raps somebody'll buy you.” + </p> + <p> + Lauzanne did not answer-it's a way horses have. It is doubtful if his mind + quite grasped the situation, even. That neither Dixon, nor Langdon, nor + the jockey boys understood him he knew—not clearly, but + approximately enough to increase his stubbornness, to rouse his + resentment. They had not even studied out the pathology of his descent + sufficiently well to give him a fair show, to train him intelligently. + They remembered that his sire, Lazzarone, had a bad temper; but they + forgot that he was a stayer, not 'given to sprinting. Even Lauzanne's dam, + Bric-a-brac, was fond of a long route, was better at a mile-and-a-half + than five furlongs. + </p> + <p> + Lauzanne knew what had come to him of genealogy, not in his mind so much + as in his muscles. They were strong but sluggish, not active but + non-tiring. Langdon had raced Lauzanne with sprinting colts, and when they + ran away from him at the start he had been unequal to the task of + overhauling them in the short two-year-old run of half-a-mile. Then the + wise man had said that Lauzanne's courage was at fault; the jockeys had + called it laziness, and applied the whip. And out of all this uselessness, + this unthinking philosophy, the colt had come with a soured temper, a + broken belief in his masters—“Lauzanne the Despised.” + </p> + <p> + Porter's trust that his ill luck had been changed by a win was a faith of + short life, for Diablo was most emphatically beaten in his race. + </p> + <p> + And then came the day of forlorn hope, the day of Lauzanne's disgrace, + inasmuch as it de-graduated him into the selling-platter class. + </p> + <p> + Bad horse as Langdon knew Lauzanne to be, it occurred to him that Porter + had planned a clever coup. He had an interview with Crane over the + subject, but his master did not at all share the Trainer's belief. + </p> + <p> + “What price would Lucretia, or The Dutchman, be in with the same lot?” + Langdon asked, argumentatively. + </p> + <p> + “About one to ten,” Crane replied. “But the Chestnut's beating them had no + bearing on this race. From what I see of Mr. Dixon, I don't at all class + him with you as a trainer—he hasn't the same resource.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon stood silent, sullenly turning over in his mind this doubtful + compliment. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure,” continued the Banker, “but that having stuck Porter with + Lauzanne, you shouldn't give him a hint about—well, as to what + course of preparation would make Lauzanne win a race for him. The ordinary + diet of oats is hardly stimulating enough for such a sluggish animal.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon frowned. If Crane had not been quite so strong, quite so full of + unexpressed power, he would have rebelled at the assertion that he had + stuck Porter; but he answered, and his voice struggled between asperity + and deprecation, “There ain't no call for me to give that stable any + pointers; Porter put it to me pretty straight that the horse had been + helped.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say?” blandly inquired Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Told him to go to hell.” + </p> + <p> + This wasn't exactly truthful as we remember the interview, but its + terseness appealed to Crane, and he smiled as he said: “Porter probably + won't take your advice, Langdon; he's stubborn enough at times. And even + if he does know that—that—Lauzanne' requires special + treatment, he won't indulge him—he's got a lot of old-fashioned + ideas about racing. So you see Lauzanne is a bad betting proposition.” + </p> + <p> + After Langdon had left Crane's thoughts dwelt on the subject they had just + discussed. + </p> + <p> + “From a backer's point of view Lauzanne is certainly bad business,” he + mused; “but the public will reason just as Langdon does. And what's bad + for the backers is good for the layers; I must see Faust.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better make a book to beat Lauzanne,” Crane said to Jakey Faust, + just before business had commenced in the ring that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The Cherub stared in astonishment; his eyes opened wide. That was nearly + the limit of his fat little face's expression, no matter what the + occasion. + </p> + <p> + “You don't own him now, do you, sir?” he blurted out, with unthinking + candor. + </p> + <p> + “I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “He's dropped into a soft spot—he rates best in the percentage + card.” + </p> + <p> + “Figures sometimes lie,” commented Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Every handicapper tips him to win.” + </p> + <p> + “They're all broke because of their knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “The books'll mark him up first choice.” + </p> + <p> + “That's why it will be worth while playing the field to beat him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's in with a gang of muts to-day, an' he beat some cracker-jacks last + time out.” + </p> + <p> + “You were hypnotized that day, Mr. Faust; so was the Judge. Lauzanne + didn't beat anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't beat—what the hell—didn't the Chestnut get the + verdict?” + </p> + <p> + “He did; but—” and Crane looked at Faust, with patient toleration of + his lack of perception. + </p> + <p> + The Cherub waited for an explanation of these contradictory remarks. But + he might have waited indefinitely—Crane had quite finished. The + Cherub raised his little round eyes, that were like glass alleys, green + and red and blue-streaked, to the other's face inquiringly, and + encountered a pair of penetrating orbs peering at him over some sort of a + mask—the face that sustained the eyes was certainly a mask—as + expressionless. Then it came to Jakey Faust that there was nothing left to + do but fill the Lauzanne column in his book with the many bets that would + come his way and make much money. + </p> + <p> + Crane watched Lauzanne go lazily, sluggishly down to the post for his + race. He knew the horse's moods; the walk of the Chestnut was the + indifferent stroll of a horse that is thinking only of his dinner. + </p> + <p> + “They've given him nothing,” the Banker muttered to himself; “the + heavy-headed brute won't try a yard. But he'll fight the boy when he tries + to ride him out.” + </p> + <p> + The whisky that Dixon had surreptitiously given Lauzanne had been as + inefficacious as so much ginger beer; and in the race Lauzanne drew back + out of the bustle and clash of the striving horses as quickly as he could. + In vain his jockey used whip and spur; Lauzanne simply put his ears back, + switched his tail, and loafed along, a dozen lengths behind his field. + </p> + <p> + In the straight he made up a little of the lost ground, but he was + securely out of the money at the finish. Fate still sat and threw the dice + as he had for many moons—a deuce for John Porter, and a six for + Philip Crane. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + It was late autumn; the legitimate racing season had closed. In August + Porter had taken his horses back to Ringwood for the winter. + </p> + <p> + When a man strives against Fate, when realization laughs mockingly at his + expectations, there comes to him a time when he longs for a breathing + spell, when he knows that he must rest, and wait until the wheel of life, + slow-turning, has passed a little through the groove of his existence. + John Porter had been beaten down at every point. Disastrous years come to + all men, whether they race horses or point the truthful way, and this year + had been but a series of disappointments to the master of Ringwood. After + Lucretia's win in the Eclipse, Porter did not land another race. Lucretia + caught cold and went off. He tried Lauzanne twice again, but the Chestnut + seemed thoroughly soured. Now he was back at Ringwood, a dark cloud of + indebtedness hanging over the beautiful place, and prospect of relief very + shadowy. If Lucretia wintered well and grew big and strong she might + extricate him from his difficulties by winning one or two of the big races + the following summer. About any of the other horses there was not even + this much of promise. + </p> + <p> + Thoroughly distrusting Lauzanne, embittered by his cowardice, Porter had + given him away—but to Allis. Strangely enough, the girl had taken a + strong liking to the son of Lazzarone; it may have been because of the + feeling that she was indirectly responsible for his presence at Ringwood. + Allis Porter's perceptions had been developed to an extraordinary degree. + All her life she had lived surrounded by thoroughbreds, and her sensitive + nature went out to them, in their courage and loyalty, in a manner quite + beyond possibility in a practical, routine-following horseman. To her they + were almost human; the play of their minds was as attractive and + interesting as the development of their muscles was to a trainer. When the + stable had been taken back to Ringwood, she had asked for Lauzanne as a + riding horse. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to give him away,” her father had replied; “I can't sell him—nobody + would buy a brute with such a reputation.” This word brought to Porter's + mind his chief cause of resentment against the Chestnut. The public having + got into its head that Porter was playing coups, generously suggested that + he was pulling Lauzanne to get him in some big handicap light. + </p> + <p> + “I won't feed such a skate all winter,” he declared angrily, after a + little pause. + </p> + <p> + “Well, give him to me, father,” the girl had pleaded; “I am certain that + he'll make good some day; you'll see that he'll pay you for keeping your + word.” + </p> + <p> + As Allis rode Lauzanne she discovered many things about the horse; that + instead of being a stupid, morose brute, his intelligence was + extraordinary, and, with her at least, his temper perfect. + </p> + <p> + Allis's relationship with her father was unusual. They were chums; in all + his trouble, in all his moments of wavering, buffeted by the waves of + disaster, Allis was the one who cheered him, who regirt him in his armor:—Allis, + the slight olive-faced little woman, with the big, fearless Joan-of-Arc + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You'll see what we'll do next summer, Dad,” she said cheerily. “You'll + win with Lucretia as often as you did with her mother; and I'll win with + Lauzanne. We'll just keep quiet till spring, then we'll show them.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon's horses, so silently controlled by Philip Crane, Banker, had been + put in winter quarters at Gravesend, where Langdon had a cottage. Crane's + racing season had been as successful as the Master of Ringwood's had been + disastrous. He had won a fair-class race with The Dutchman—ostensibly + Langdon's horse—and then, holding true to his nature, which was to + hasten slowly, threw him out of training and deliberately planned a big + coup for the next year. The colt was engaged in several three-year-old + stakes, and Crane set Langdon to work to find out his capabilities. As his + owner expected, he showed them in a severe trial gallop the true Hanover + staying-power. + </p> + <p> + Although Crane had said nothing about it at the time, he had his eye on + the Eastern Derby when he commissioned Langdon to purchase this gallant + son of Hanover. It was a long way ahead to look, to lay plans to win a + race the following June, but that was the essence of Crane's existence, + careful planning. He loved it. He was a master at it. And, after all, + given a good stayer, such as he had in The Dutchman, the mile-and-a-half + run of the Derby left less to chance than any other stake he could have + pitched upon; the result would depend absolutely upon the class and + stamina of the horses. No bad start could upset his calculations, no + little interference in the race could destroy his horse's chance if he + were good enough to win. The Dutchman's races as a two-year-old would not + warrant his being made a favorite, and Langdon, properly directed, was + clever enough to see that The Dutchman was at a comfortable price for + betting purposes. + </p> + <p> + Many things had crowded into this year of Crane's life. The bank, doing + but a modest business always, was running so smoothly that it required + little attention from the owner. This was one reason why he had thrown so + much subtle energy into his racing; its speculation appealed to him. The + plucking he had received as a moneyed youth rankled in his heart. The + possession of such a faithful jackal as Langdon carried him to greater + lengths than he would have gone had the obnoxious details been subject to + his own execution. Though conscienceless, he was more or less fastidious. + Had a horse broken down and become utterly useless, he would have ordered + him to be destroyed without experiencing any feeling of compassion—he + would have dismissed the matter entirely from his mind with the passing of + the command; but rather than destroy the horse himself, he probably would + have fed him. And so it was with men. If they were driven to the wall + because of his plans, that was their own look out; it did not trouble + Philip Crane. + </p> + <p> + Porter he had known simply in a business way. From the first he had felt + that Ringwood would pass out of its owner's possession, and he had begun + to covet it. The Lauzanne race had been Langdon's planning altogether. + Crane, cold-blooded as he was, would not have robbed a man he had business + dealings with deliberately. He had told his trainer to win, if possible, a + race with Lauzanne, and get rid of him. That Langdon's villainous scheme + had borne evil fruit for John Porter was purely a matter of chance + selection. There was a Mephistophelean restitution in not striving to + wrest the Eclipse from Lucretia with The Dutchman. + </p> + <p> + And now, in this year, had come the entirely new experience of an + affection—his admiration for Allis Porter. It conflicted with every + other emotion that governed his being. All his life he had been selfish—considering + only Philip Crane, his mind unharrassed by anything but business obstacles + in his ambitious career. Love for this quiet, self-contained girl, + unadorned by anything but the truth, and honesty, and fearlessness that + were in her big steadfast eyes, had come upon him suddenly and with an + assertive force that completely mastered him. By a mere chance he had + heard Allis give her recitation, “The Run of Crusader,” in the little + church at Brookfield. Crane was not an agnostic, but he had interested + himself little in church matters; and the Reverend Dolman's concert, that + was meant to top down many weeds of debt that were choking the church, had + claimed him simply because an evening in Brookfield had come to hang + heavily on his hands. Now when the Reverend Dolman received Philip Crane's + check for fifty dollars the next day, to be applied to the church + encumbrance, he sought to allay his surprise by attributing the gift to + his own special pleading that evening, of course backed up by Providence. + If anybody had stated that the mainspring of the gift had been the wicked + horse-racing poem of their denunciation he would have been scandalized and + full of righteous disbelief. It is quite likely that even Crane would have + denied that Allis's poem had inspired him to the check; but nevertheless + it had. + </p> + <p> + The world of feeling and sympathy and goodness that had hung in her voice + had set a new window in his soul slightly ajar—so slightly ajar that + even now, months afterward, the lovelight was only beginning to stream + through. When love comes to a man at forty he is apt to play the game very + badly indeed; he turns it into a very anxious business, and moves through + the light-tripping measure with the pedantic dignity of a minuet dancer. + But Philip Crane was not given to making mistakes; he knew that, like + Crusader, “His best racing days (in the love stakes) were over”—especially + where the woman was but a girl. So he sat down and planned it all out as + he planned to win the Brooklyn Derby months later. And all the time he was + as sincerely in love as if he had blundered into many foolishness; but his + love making was to be diplomatic. Even now all the gods of Fate stood + ranged on his side; Allis's brother was in his bank, more or less + dependent upon him; Ringwood itself was all but in the bank; he stood + fairly well with John Porter, and much better with Allis's mother, for + already he had begun to ingratitate himself with Mrs. Porter. He would + cast from the shoulders of the Reverend Dolman a trifle more of the load + he was carrying. He would send the reverend gentleman another check. + </p> + <p> + Why he should think it necessary to prepare his suit with so much subtlety + he hardly knew; in all reason he should be considered a fair match for + Allis Porter. He was not a bad man as the world understood him; he did not + profess Christianity, but, on the other hand, his life was extremely + respectable; he did not drink; he was not given to profane language; even + in racing his presence seemed to lend an air of respectability to the + sport, and it was generally supposed that he raced purely for relaxation. + In truth, it seemed to him that his marriage with Allis would be a deuced + good thing for the Porters. + </p> + <p> + In actuality there were just two things that stood in the way—two + things which his position and wealth could not obviate—his age, and + the Porter pride. If Porter had not been dubbed “Honest John” early in + life, he might have been saddled with “Proud Porter” later on. The pride + had come up out of old Kentucky with all the other useless things—the + horse-racing, and the inability to make money, and the fancy for keeping a + promise. Something whispered to Crane that Allis would never come to him + simply out of love; it might be regard, esteem, a desire to please her + parents, a bowing to the evident decree of fate. Perhaps even the very + difficulty of conquest made Crane the more determined to win, and made him + hasten slowly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <h3> + As a rule few visitors went to Ringwood. + </h3> + <p> + John Porter had been too interested in his horses and his home life to + care much for social matters. Mrs. Porter was a home-body, too, caring + nothing at all for society—at best there was but little of it in + Brookfield—except where it was connected with church work. Perhaps + that was one reason why Allis had grown so close into her father's life. + It was a very small, self-contained household. + </p> + <p> + Mike Gaynor had become attached to the staff at Ringwood this winter as a + sort of assistant trainer to Porter. Dixon only trained the Ringwood + horses during the racing season, Porter always supervising them in winter + quarters. Perhaps it was Porter's great cloud of evil fortune which had + cast its sinister influence over Mike because of his sympathy for the + master of Ringwood; certain it is that the autumn found him quite “on his + uppers,” as he graphically described his financial standing. An + arrangement was made by which Mike's disconsolate horses were fed at + Ringwood, and he took care of both strings. This delighted Allis, for she + had full confidence in Gaynor's integrity and good sense. + </p> + <p> + The early winter brought two visitors to Ringwood—Crane, who came + quite often, and Mortimer, who went out to the farm a couple of times with + Alan. + </p> + <p> + George Mortimer might be described as an angular young man. His face, + large-featured, square-jawed, and bold-topped by broad forehead, suggested + the solemnity Alan had found so trying. Of course a young man of his + make-up was sure to have notions, and Mortimer's mind was knotted with + them; there seemed no soft nor smooth places in his timber. That was why + he had reasoned with the butcher by energetically grasping his windpipe + the evening that worthy gentleman had expressed himself so distastefully + over Allis Porter's contribution to the Reverend Dolman's concert. Perhaps + a young man of more subtle grace would have received some grateful + recognition for this office, but the matter had been quite closed out so + far as Mortimer was concerned; Alan tried to refer to it afterward, but + had been curtly stopped. + </p> + <p> + George Mortimer's chief notion was that work was a great thing, seemingly + the chief end of man. Another notion almost equally prominent—he had + derived it from his mother—was, that all forms of gambling were + extremely bad business. First and foremost in this interdiction stood + horse racing. The touch of it that hung like a small cloud over the + Brookfield horizon had inspired Mrs. Mortimer, as it had other good people + of the surrounding country, with the restricted idea that those who had to + do with thoroughbred horses were simply gamblers—betting people. Her + home was in Emerson, a dozen miles from Brookfield. + </p> + <p> + Quite paradoxically, if Allis Porter had not given “The Run of Crusader”—most + certainly a racing poem—in the little church, this angular young man + with stringent ideas about running horses probably would have never + visited Ringwood. Something of the wide sympathy that emanated from her as + she told of the gallant horse's death struck into his strong nature, and + there commenced to creep into his thoughts at odd intervals a sort of + gratuitous pity that she should be inextricably mixed up with race horses. + His original honesty of thought and the narrowness of his tuition were apt + to make him egotistically sure that the things which appealed to him as + being right were incapable of variation. + </p> + <p> + At first he had liked Alan Porter, with no tremendous amount of unbending; + now, because of the interest Allis had excited in him, the liking began to + take on a supervisory form, and it was not without a touch of irritation + in his voice that Alan informed his sister that he had acquired a second + father, and with juvenile malignity attributed the incumbrance to her + seductive influence. + </p> + <p> + With all these cross purposes at work it can be readily understood that + Mortimer's visits to Ringwood were not exactly rose-leaved. In truth, the + actors were all too conventionally honest, too unsocialized, to subvert + their underlying motives. Allis, with her fine intuition, would have + unearthed Mortimer's disapprobation of racing—though he awkwardly + strove to hide it—even if Alan had not enlarged upon this point. + This knowledge constrained the girl, even drove her into rebellion. She + took his misunderstanding as a fault, almost as a weakness, and shocked + the young man with carefully prepared racing expressions; reveled with + strange abandon in talks of gallops, and trials, and work-outs, and + breathers; threw ironmouthed horses, pullers, skates, and divers other + equine wonders at his head until he revolted in sullen irritation. In fact + they misunderstood each other finely; in truth their different natures + were more in harmony two miles apart, the distance that lay between the + bank and Ringwood. + </p> + <p> + By comparison Crane's visits to Ringwood were utopianly complacent. + Strangely enough, Mrs. Porter, opposed to racing as she was, came quite + readily under the glamor of his artistic unobtrusiveness. He had complete + mastery over the science of waiting. His admission to the good lady of a + passing interest in horses was an apology; there seemed such an utter + absence of the betting spirit that the recreation it afforded him condoned + the offense. + </p> + <p> + There was this difference between the two men, the old and the young: + Crane knew exactly why he went there, while Mortimer had asked himself + more than once, coming back from Ringwood feeling that he had been + misunderstood—perhaps even laughed at—why he had gone there at + all. He had no definite plan, even desire; he was impelled to it out of + some unrecognized force. It was because of these conditions that the one + potter turned his images so perfectly, and the other formed only poor, + distorted, often broken, dishes of inferior clay. + </p> + <p> + It stood in the reason of things, however, that Mortimer, in spite of his + uncompromising attitude toward racing, should be touched by its tentacles + if he visited at Ringwood. + </p> + <p> + His first baptism came with much precipitancy on the occasion of his + fourth visit to the Porters. He had driven out with Alan to spend his + Saturday afternoon at Ringwood. An afternoon is not exactly like an + evening in the matter of entertaining a guest; something must be done; + cigars, or music, or small chatter are insufficient. If one is on the + western slope of life's Sierra perhaps a nap may kill the time profitably + enough, but this was a case where a young man had to be entertained, a + young man difficult of entertainment under the circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Alan had some barbarous expedition of juvenile interest on hand; the + unearthing of a woodchuck, or it might have been a groundhog, in a back + field; but Allis would not become a party to the destruction of animal + life for the sport of the thing. She had a much better programme mapped + out for Mortimer. Some way she felt that if he could see the thoroughbred + horses in their stalls, could come to know them individually, casually + though it might be, he would perhaps catch a glimmer of their beautiful + characters. So she asked Mr. Mortimer to go and have a look at her pets. + Alan would none of it; he was off to his woodchuck or groundhog. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you don't want to go and kill anything,” she said, turning + gratefully to Mortimer when he refused Alan's invitation, saying that he + preferred to look at the horses. “I'll show you Diablo, and Lucretia, and + Lauzanne the Despised—he's my horse, and I'm to win a big race with + him next year. Gaynor is down at the stables; and I'll give you a + tip"-Mortimer winced—“if you want to stand well in with Mike, let + him suspect that you're fond of horses.” + </p> + <p> + At the stable door they met Mike Gaynor. Mike usually vacillated between a + condition of chronic anger at somebody or something, and an Irish drollery + that made people who were sick at heart laugh. Allis was as familiar with + his moods as she was with the phases of Lauzanne's temper. On Mike's face + was a map of disaster; the disaster might be trivial or great. That + something was wrong the girl knew, but whether it was that a valuable + horse was dead, or that a mouse had eaten a hole in a grain bag she could + only discover by questioning Gaynor, for there were never degrees of + expressed emotion in Mike's facile countenance; either a deep scowl or a + broad grin were the two normal conditions. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Mike?” questioned Allis. + </p> + <p> + “Mather, is it?” began Gaynor, “it's just this, Miss Allis; if yer father + thinks I'm goin' to stand by an' see good colts spiled in their timper + just because a rapscallion b'y has got the evil intints av ould Nick + himself, thin he's mistook, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it Mike—Shandy?” + </p> + <p> + “That's him, Miss. He's the divil on wheels, bangin' thim horses about as + though he was King Juba.” + </p> + <p> + Allis saw that Gaynor was indeed angry. + </p> + <p> + “I'll speak to father about him, Mike,” she answered; “I won't have the + horses abused.” + </p> + <p> + “Mark my words, Miss Allis, Diablo'll take it out of his hide some day. + The b'y'll monkey wit' him once too often, then there'll be no b'y left.” + </p> + <p> + “May we see the horses, Mike—are they having their lie-down, or + anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, Miss; they're gettin' the rub-down now; don't ye hear Diablo + bastin' the boords av his stall wid that handy off hind-foot av his?” + </p> + <p> + “There's a filly for yer life,” exclaimed the Trainer, rapturously, as he + opened gently the door of Lucretia's box stall. “There's the straightest + filly iver looked through a halter,” he continued, putting his arm with + the gentleness of a woman over the brown mare's beautiful neck. “Come + here, ould girl,” he said, coaxingly, as he drew the haltered head toward + the visitors. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer looked with interest at the big, comfortable box stall, littered + a foot deep with bright, clean, yellow straw. How contented and at home + the mare appeared! It seemed almost a complete recompense, this attentive + care, for the cruelty he imagined race horses suffered. + </p> + <p> + “You don't tie her up?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Tie her up!” ejaculated Mike, a fine Celtic scorn in his voice; “I'd + rather tie up a wife—if I had one,” he added by way of extenuation. + “No man would tie up a mare worth tin thousand dollars if she's worth a + cent, an' take chances av her throwin' hersilf in the halter; av coorse + she's hitched fer a bit after a gallop while she's havin' a rub-down, but + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Lucretia's black nozzle came timidly forward, and the soft, velvety upper + lip snuggled Allis's cheek. + </p> + <p> + “She knows ye, Miss,” said Mike. “That's the way wit' horses—they're + like children; they know friends, an' ye can't fool thim. Now she's sizin' + ye up, Mister,” as Lucretia sniffed suspiciously at Mortimer's chin, + keeping a wary eye on him. “She'll know if ye like horses or not, an' I'd + back her opinion agin fifty min's oaths.” + </p> + <p> + Allis watched with nervous interest the investigation. She almost felt + that if Lucretia liked her companion—well, it would be something + less to dislike in him, at all events. Lucretia seemed turning the thing + over in her mind, trying to think it out. There was some mystery about + this new comer. Evidently she did not distrust him entirely, else she + would have put her ears back a trifle and turned away with a little + impatient warning shake of her delicate head. She always turned in that + cross manner from Shandy, the stable boy. She had also discovered that the + visitor was not completely a horseman; she did not investigate his + pockets, nor put her head over his shoulder, as she would have done with + Mr. Porter or Mike, or even with one who was a stranger, as was Mortimer, + had she felt the unmistakable something which conveyed to her mind that he + was of the equine brotherhood. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia has found you out,” said Allis, presently. “You do like horses; + she knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like animals, I don't deny,” Mortimer answered, “but I know very + little about them—nothing about race horses.” + </p> + <p> + Mike frowned and looked disparagingly at the visitor. “He must be a quare + duck,” he muttered to himself. That a man should know nothing of + thoroughbreds was perfectly inexplicable to Gaynor. He knew many racing + men whose knowledge of horseflesh was a subject for ridicule, but then + they never proclaimed their ignorance, rather posed as good judges than + otherwise. + </p> + <p> + But with startling inconsistency Mike explained: “There's many like ye, + sir, only they don't know it, that's all; the woods is full av thim. Would + ye like to give the filly a carrot, Miss?” he added, turning to Allis. + “I'll bring some.” + </p> + <p> + When he returned Allis gave one to Lucretia, then they passed to the next + stall. + </p> + <p> + “That's a useful horse,” explained the Trainer; “he's won some races in + his 'time.” + </p> + <p> + “What's his name?” asked Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “Game Boy. He's by the Juggler. Ye remember him, don't ye?” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer was forced to confess that he didn't quite remember Juggler. + </p> + <p> + “That's strange,” commented Mike, turning the big bay about with evident + pride; “he won the 'Belmont,' at Jerome Park, did the ould Juggler. Ye + must av heerd av that.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer compromised by admitting that he had probably forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I haven't,” declared Mike, reproachfully. “If Game Boy stands a + prep this summer ye'll hear from him,” he confided to Mortimer, as they + left the stall. “Jist remember Game Boy; see, ye can't forget—a big + bay wit' a white nigh fore leg, an' a bit rat-tailed. Yes, Game Boy's all + right,” monologued Mike; “but here's a better; this is Diablo. He must + have tabasco in his head, fer he's got the divil's own timper. But he can + gallop a bit; he can go like a quarterhorse, an' stay till the cows come + home; but he's like Lauzanne acrost yonder, he's got a bee in his bonnet + an' it takes a divil to ride him.” + </p> + <p> + “That's hard on me, Mike,” expostulated Allis. “You see, Lauzanne goes + better with me in the saddle than any of the boys,” she explained to + Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “The divil or angels, I was going to say, Miss, when ye interrupted me,” + gallantly responded Mike. + </p> + <p> + Diablo's head was tied high in a corner of the stall, for Shandy, the boy, + was hard at work on him with a double hand of straw, rubbing him down. The + boy kept up a peculiar whistling noise through his parted lips as he + rubbed, and Diablo snapped impatiently at the halter-shank with his great + white teeth as though he resented the operation. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer gazed with enthusiasm at the shining black skin that glistened + like satin, or watered silk. Surely there was excuse for people loving + thoroughbreds. It was an exhilaration even to look at that embodiment of + physical development. It was an animate statue to the excellence of good, + clean living. Somehow or other Mortimer felt that though the living + creature before him was only a horse, yet nature's laws were being adhered + to, and the result was a reward of physical perfection and enjoyment of + life. He began to feel that a man, or even a woman—it was the subtle + presence of the woman at his side that made him involuntarily interject + this clause into his inaudible thoughts—yes, even a woman of high + moral attributes might find the most healthy form of interested amusement + in watching the superb development of horses that were destined for no + other purpose than to race and beget sons and daughters of the same + wondrous stamina and courage and speed. His detestation of racing had been + in reality an untutored prejudice; he had looked upon but one phase of the + question, and that quite casually, as it introduced itself into his life + by means of sensational betting incidents in the daily papers. To him all + forms of betting were highly disastrous—most immoral. But here, like + a revelation, came to him, in all its fascination, the perfect picture of + the animal, which he was forced to admit stood next to man in its + adornment of God's scheme of creation. + </p> + <p> + As Shandy swept his wisp of straw along the sensitive skin of Diablo's + stomach, the latter shrunk from the tickling sensation, and lashed out + impatiently with a powerful hind leg as though he would demolish his + tormentor. + </p> + <p> + “He's not cross at all just,” explained Mike; “he's bluffin', that's all. + Shure a child could handle him if they'd only go the right way about it.” + </p> + <p> + Then he leaned over and whispered in an aside to the visitors—“Bot' + t'umbs up!” (this was Mike's favorite oath). “Diablo hates that b'y an' + some day he'll do him up, mark my words.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, Shandy,” he cried, turning to the rubber, “loose the Black's head + an' turn him 'round.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer almost shrank with apprehension for the boy, for Diablo's ears + were back on his flat, tapering neck, and his eyes looking back at them, + were all white, save for the intense blue-shimmered pupil. To Mortimer + that look was the incarnation of evil hatred. But the boy unsnapped the + halter-shank without hesitation, and Diablo, more inquisitive than angry, + came mincingly toward them, nodding his head somewhat defiantly, as much + as to say that the nature of the interview would depend altogether upon + their good behavior. + </p> + <p> + “See that!” ejaculated Mike, a pleasant smile of satisfaction rippling the + furrows of his face; “see how he picks out the best friend the stable's + got.” + </p> + <p> + Diablo had stretched his lean head down, and was trying to nibble with + gentle lip the carrot Allis held half hidden behind her skirt. There was + none of Lucretia's timidity in Diablo's approach; it was full of an + assumption of equality, of trust in the intentions of the stranger who had + come with the mistress he hart faith in. + </p> + <p> + “They're all like that when Miss Allis is about,” explained Mike; “there + never would be a bad horse if the stable-b'ys worked the same way. Tie him + up, Shandy,” he added. “Even the jockeys spoil their mounts,” Gaynor + continued in a monotone; “the horse'll gallop better for women any time—they + treat thim gentler, that's why.” + </p> + <p> + “Most interesting,” hazarded Mortimer, feeling some acknowledgment of + Mike's information was due. + </p> + <p> + “It's the trut'. Miss Allis'd take Lauzanne, or the Black, or the little + mare, an' get a better race out av thim than any jock I've seen ridin' + hereabout.” + </p> + <p> + “Mike,” exclaimed Allis, “you flatter me; you almost make me wish that I + were a jockey.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, bot' t'umbs up! Ye'd av made a good un, Miss, an' that's no + disrespect to ye, I'm sayin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer smiled condescendingly. Allis's quick eye caught his expression + of amused discontent; it angered her. Mike's praise had been practically + honest. To him a good jockey was the embodiment of courage and honesty and + intelligence; but she knew that to Mortimer it simply meant a phase of + life he considered quite outside the pale of recognized respectability. + Somehow she felt that Mike's encomium had lowered her perceptibly in the + opinion of this man whom she herself affected to look upon with but + toleration. + </p> + <p> + They visited all the other stalls, eight of them, and listened to Mike's + eulogies on the inmates. Coming down the other side of the passage, the + last occupied box stall contained Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Porter'll tell ye about this wan,” said Mike, diplomatically. “He's + shaped like a good horse, an' his sire, old Lazzarone, landed many a + purse, an' the 'Suburban,' too—won it on three legs, fer he was + clean gone in his pins, I'll take me oath to that. He was a good horse—whin + he liked. Perhaps Lauzanne'll do the same some day, fer all I know.” + </p> + <p> + There was such a tone of doubt in the Trainer's voice that even Mortimer + noticed it. Neither was there much praise of the big Chestnut; evidently + Mike did not quite approve of him, though hesitating to say so in the + presence of his mistress. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Lauzanne is my horse,” volunteered Allis. “I even ride him in all + his work now, since he took to eating the stable-boy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you're not afraid?” asked Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + For answer the girl slipped quietly into the stall, and going up beside + the Chestnut, who was standing sulkily with his head in the corner of his + box, took him by the ear and turned him gently around. + </p> + <p> + “He's just a quiet-mannered chap, that's all,” she said. “He's a big, + lazy, contented old boy,” and she laid her cheek against his fawn-colored + nozzle. “You see,” she explained, “he's got more brains than any of the + other horses, and when he's abused he knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's grateful when he's kindly treated,” commented Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that's why I like horses better than men.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” the exclamation slipped from Mortimer's lips. + </p> + <p> + “Most men, I mean,” she explained. “Of course, father, and Alan, and—” + she hesitated; “you see,” she went on to explain, “the number of my men + friends is limited; but except these, and Mike, and Mr. Dixon, I like the + horses best.” + </p> + <p> + “I almost believe you're right, Miss Porter,” concurred Mortimer; “I've + known men myself that I fancy were much worse than even Diablo.” + </p> + <p> + “Mike thinks Lauzanne is a bad horse,” the girl said, changing the + subject, “but he'll win a big race this coming season. You just keep your + eye on Lauzanne. Here's your carrot, old chap,” she said, stroking the + horse's neck, “and we must go if we're to have that drive. Will you hitch + the gray to the buggy for us, Mike?” she asked of Gaynor, as they came out + of the stable, “we'll wait here.” + </p> + <p> + As Mike started off there came to their ears a sound of turmoil from + Diablo's box; impatient kicks against the boards from the horse, and + smothered imprecations from the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Hear that fiend!” the girl exclaimed, and there was wrath in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “He does seem a bad horse,” concurred Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean Diablo; it's the boy. It's all his evil doing. Oh, I've + only one glove,” she exclaimed. “I know where it is, though; that + mischievous rascal, Lauzanne, nibbled it from the front of my jacket; I + saw him do it, but forgot to pick it up.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, Miss Porter; I'll get it for you.” + </p> + <p> + “No; please don't!” with emphasis. As he started back, she laid a + detaining hand on his arm. “I'd much prefer to go myself; Lauzanne + distrusts strangers and might make trouble.” + </p> + <p> + As the girl entered the stable, Mortimer sauntered on in the direction + Mike had gone. + </p> + <p> + Allis opened the door of Lauzanne's stall, passed in, and searched in the + straw for the lost glove. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + The noise of strife in Diablo's box had increased. There came the sound of + blows on the horse's ribs; a muttered oath, and suddenly a scream of + terror from the boy, drowned in an instant by the ferocious battlecry of + the enraged stallion. Mortimer, thirty yards away, heard it, and felt his + heart stand still; he had never heard anything so demoniac in his life. He + turned in such haste that his foot slipped on the frozen earth, and he + fell heavily. + </p> + <p> + At the first sound of blows Allis had started angrily toward Diablo's box. + She was at the door when Shandy's cry of terror rang out. For an instant + the girl hesitated; what she saw was enough to make a strong man quail. + The black stallion was loose; with crunching jaws he had fastened on the + arm of Shandy, in the corner of the stall, and was trying to pull the boy + down that he might trample him to death. But for a second she faltered; if + ever quick action were needed, it was now. + </p> + <p> + “Back—back, Diablo! back!” she cried, as pushing past the black + demon she brought her hunting-crop down with full force between his ears. + </p> + <p> + Whether it was the sound of his mistress's voice, or the staggering blow, + Diablo dropped the boy like a crushed rat, and, half rearing, looked + viciously at the brave girl. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! through the hay window!” commanded Allis, standing between Shandy + and the horse, and drawing the whip back over her left shoulder, ready to + give it to Diablo full in the throat should he charge again. + </p> + <p> + Cowed, the boy clambered through the opening. Enraged at the sight of his + assailant's escape, the horse gave another scream of defiance and sought + with striking forefeet and spread jaws to pull down this new enemy. Not + until then had Allis thought of calling for help; her one idea had been + for the boy's safety. + </p> + <p> + Like a flash the full peril of the situation dawned upon her; perhaps her + life would be given for the boy who well deserved his punishment. She had + seen two stallions fight, and knew that their ferocious natures, once + roused, could only be quelled by a force stronger than she possessed. Yes, + surely she would be killed-her young life trampled out by the frenzied + animal. Incoherently but altogether these thoughts filled her mind; also + the knowledge that Mike was beyond hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Help, Mortimer!” she called. + </p> + <p> + He heard it as he reached the stable door. Even then he would have been + too late had not other rescue come more quickly. + </p> + <p> + In rushing from Lauzanne's stall Allis had left the door swinging on its + hinges. At the first cry of defiance from the black stallion Lauzanne had + stretched high his head and sent back, with curled nostril, an answering + challenge. Then with ears cocked he had waited for a charge from his + natural enemy. When the mingled call of his mistress and Diablo's bugle + note came to him he waited no longer, but rushed across the passage and + seized the black horse by the crest just as he was overpowering the girl. + </p> + <p> + It was at that instant Mortimer reached the scene—in his hand a + stable fork he had grabbed as he raced down the passage. Even Lauzanne's + attack, though it gave Allis a respite, would not have saved her life; the + madly fighting horses would have kicked and trampled her to death. + </p> + <p> + “My God! Back, back, you devils!” And pushing, crowding, hugging the side + of the stall, Mortimer fought his way to the girl. + </p> + <p> + Once Diablo's hoof shot out and the man's left arm, snapping like a + pistol, dropped useless at his side. His brain reeled with the shock. The + oddly swinging arm, dangling like a doll's, with the palm turned backward, + seemed to fascinate him. Why was he there? What was he doing? Why was he + hammering the horses over the head with a stable fork held tightly in his + right hand? He hardly knew; his mind was clouded; he was fighting by + instinct, and always crowding along the wall toward the farther corner. + The girl had quite faded from his sight. Somehow he felt that he must + drive the horses back, back, out of the stall. + </p> + <p> + Allis, too, was fighting; bringing the crop down with cutting force over + the withers, neck, head, any part of the plunging mass in front of her. + She could escape now through the opening where the boy had gone; but was + not Mortimer in the same position she had been? She had seen him drop to + his knees when Diablo lashed out; he must be sorely hurt; now he was + reeling like a drunken man as he fought the mad brutes. + </p> + <p> + “This way,” she panted, catching him by the coat, and pulling him toward + the window. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that was it! He saw her now. It steadied his senses. It was the girl, + and she had called him—“Mortimer!” + </p> + <p> + “Back,” he yelled irrelevantly, in answer, cutting Diablo across the face + with the fork. It was pandemonium. + </p> + <p> + “Get through the window!” the girl screamed in his ear. “Quick! Now!” and + she pushed him toward it. + </p> + <p> + “You—first—back, you devils!” and he pressed away from her, + closer to the horses, thrusting and striking with the steel-pointed fork. + </p> + <p> + The horses were giving way; Diablo was fighting half through the door, + weakening before the onslaught of the powerful chestnut. Even in battle, + as in a race, the stamina of the Lazzarone blood was telling; the bulldog + courage of the strain was strong upon Lauzanne, now that he was roused. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! You can get out!” again called the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You first!” + </p> + <p> + This drear, repetition was the only expression Mortimer's numbed senses + were equal to; but he fought with the ferocity of a tiger—his wound + but enraged him. + </p> + <p> + They could both escape, Allis knew, if she could bring Mortimer to + understand; but they must do it quick, if at all. It was useless. He + seemed conscious of but the one idea that he must drive the fighting + animals out into the passage to save her. She was not afraid now; the + man's presence had driven that all away. It was useless to speak to him of + the window, neither would go first; so, with her riding whip she fought + side by side with Mortimer; springing back from the swift-cutting + forefeet; sometimes even hugging close to the side of a horse as he lashed + out from behind; and once saving her companion from being cut down by + pulling him swiftly from under a raised foot. In the end the stallions + were forced out into the passage, just as Mike came rushing upon the + scene. + </p> + <p> + But the battle had waned. Twice Diablo had been pulled to his knees, + forced down by the fierce strength that was Lauzanne's; the Black was all + but conquered. The Trainer's voice checked Lauzanne's fury; even the boy + had plucked up courage to return; and between them the Chestnut was driven + into his stall. All the fight had been taken out of Diablo. He struggled + to his feet, and stood trembling like a horse that had come out of a + fierce cutting race. On his neck were the marks of Lauzanne's teeth, where + they had snapped like the jaws of a trap; from his crest trickled a red + stream that dripped to the floor like water from a running eave. All the + fierce fire of hate had gone from his eyes. He hung his head dejectedly, + and his flanks quivered. Lauzanne, too, bore evidence of the vicious + strife. On one quarter, where Diablo's sharp hoof had ripped, was a cut as + though he had been lashed with a sickle, and his withers were torn. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer and Allis had come out of the stall. The man, exhausted by the + struggle, leaned wearily, with pale, drawn face, against the wall; the + floor seemed slipping from under him; he felt a sensation of swiftly + passing off into nothingness. He was sleepy, that was all; but a + sleepiness to fight against—he must still fight. + </p> + <p> + “You are badly hurt.” It was the girl's voice. He was almost surprised + that he recognized it, everything was so confused. He answered heavily, + “Yes, I'm—I'm—I want—to lie down.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, lean on my shoulder.” It was Mike's voice this time. “This is bad + business,” the Trainer was saying; “we must get him out of this; he's + nearly knocked out. Are ye all right, Miss?” turning to Allis. + </p> + <p> + The wounded man turned guiltily; he had forgotten the girl. Yes, surely + she had been in that hell of noises with him—fighting too. + </p> + <p> + “I'm just frightened, that's all,” answered Allis. “Mr. Mortimer saved + me.” + </p> + <p> + Had he? he wondered. How had he come in there, anyway? His mind refused to + work out the problem; his side was so sore. + </p> + <p> + “Yer arm's broke,” said Mike, passing to Mortimer's right side. “Come, + lean on me, sir. Can ye walk? I'll put ye in the buggy and drive ye to the + house.” + </p> + <p> + At the first step Mortimer staggered and swayed like a drunken man. In his + side were many sharp things pulling him down like grappling irons; on his + head was a great weight that crushed his feet into the hard planks; his + knees gave under this load, and he would have fallen but for Mike's strong + arm. + </p> + <p> + “I'm—afraid;” then he set his teeth hard, his voice had sought to + end the sentence in a groan of anguish; the thing that was tearing at his + side had whistled in his lungs. + </p> + <p> + Allis stepped forward swiftly, and passing her arm about his waist, helped + Mike lead him to the door. Twice she put her left hand up and brushed + tears from her eyes; the struggle had unnerved her. Very helplessly + against her swayed the man she had laughed at half an hour before. And he + had been crushed saving her! But that was not why the tears came—not + at all. She was unstrung. “And he's got grit,” she kept muttering to + herself; “he has never even groaned.” + </p> + <p> + Together they succeeded in getting him into the buggy; then, gently, Mike + drove to the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + Mrs. Porter, reading a book on the veranda, heard the crunch of wheels as + a buggy, slow-moving, turned into the drive. She raised her eyes + leisurely, the matter of the story still in her mind; but with a quick cry + of “John!” she sprang to her feet, the volume, left to itself, rustling + from her lap to the floor. The mother eyes saw that something was wrong, + and the mother heart felt that some evil had come to Allis. Mrs. Porter + had gone white in an instant. Over her hung heavy at all times the dread + of some terrible accident coming to Allis through the horses. + </p> + <p> + “Did you call, wife?” Porter asked as he came to the door. Then he sprang + quickly across the veranda at sight of his wife's blanched face, and made + to catch her in his arms. But she stopped him, pointing down the drive. + “It's Allis, John; oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered, “they're just coming back; here, sit down again, + I'll see,” and he raced down the steps just as Mike pulled up. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, girl?” he began. + </p> + <p> + “The young gentleman's got a bit shook up, sir; nothin' bad loike,” Mike + broke in hastily. The diplomatic rider, “nothin' bad,” was added for Mrs. + Porter's benefit, his quick eye having seen her white face. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Allis 's not hurt at all,” he continued. “We'll help the young + gintleman in, an' I'd best go for the docthor, I'm thinkin.” + </p> + <p> + Even as he was speaking they had helped Mortimer from the rig. He had not + uttered a sound; his teeth were set hard against the agony that was in his + side, and the queer dizziness that was over him left little beyond a + consciousness that he was being looked after, and that if he could only + keep going for a little, just use his legs a trifle, he would presently be + allowed to sleep. Yes, that was what he wanted; he was so drowsy. As he + went up the steps between the two men, a haggard face peered at him over + the rail. It was familiar; he felt that some recognition was due, for it + was a woman's face. He tried to smile. Then he was on a bed, and—and—sleep + at last. + </p> + <p> + When the three men with the silence of disaster over them passed + struggling into the house, Mrs. Porter threw herself on Allis's neck, and + a passion of tears flooded down and damped the girl's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “God be thanked, God be thanked!” gasped the troubled woman, and one hand + that was over the girl's shoulder patted her with erratic rapidity. Then + she interrupted herself. “What am I saying—it's wicked, and Mr. + Mortimer like that. But I can't help it—I can't help it. Oh, Allis! + my heart was in my mouth; I feel that some day you will come home like + this.” + </p> + <p> + At that instant Gaynor dashed by them, leaped into the buggy, and called, + as he drove off: “I'll have the docthor in a jiffy; the young man's all + right!” He was still talking as the whirr of swift-rushing wheels + smothered out his voice, and the dust rose like a steam-cloud, almost + blotting him from the landscape. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, girl! I thought you'd been killed.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, sit down, mother; you're all worked up,” and Allis put a cool hand + on her mother's hot forehead. + </p> + <p> + But the shock to her feelings had loosed the good woman's vocabulary. At + all times smouldered in her heart a hatred of racing, even of the horses. + “It's the anger of God,” Mrs. Porter denounced vehemently. “This gambling + and racing is contrary to His law. Never a night passes, Allis, that I do + not pray to God that He may open your father's eyes to the sin of racing. + No good can come of it—no good has ever come of it—nothing but + disaster and trouble. In a day the substance of a year is wasted. There + never can be prosperity living in sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, mother,” crooned Allis, softly. This outburst from Mrs. Porter + startled the girl; it was so passionate, so vehement. When they had talked + of racing in the home life the mother had nearly always preserved a + reproachful silence; her attitude was understood and respected. + </p> + <p> + “I must speak, girl,” she said again; “this sinful life is crushing me. Do + you think I feel no shame when I sit in meeting and hear our good minister + denounce gambling and racing? I can feel his eyes on me, and I cannot + raise my voice in protest, for do not I countenance it? My people were all + church people,” she continued, almost apologetically, “tolerating no sin + in the household. Living in sin there can be no hope for eternal life.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, mother,” soothed the girl; “I know just how you feel, but we + can't desert father. He does not look upon it as a sin, as carrying any + dishonor; he may be cheated, but he cheats no man. It can't be so sinful + if there is no evil intent. And listen, mother; no matter what anybody may + say, even the minister, we must both stick to father if he chooses to race + horses all his life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, sweetheart!” John Porter cried out in a pleased voice, as he came out + to them, “looking after mother; that's right. Cynthia has helped me fix up + Mortimer. He'll be all right as soon as Mike gets back with Rathbone. I + think we'd better have a cup of tea; these horses are trying on the + nerves, aren't they, little woman?” and he nestled his wife's head against + his side. “How did it happen, Allis? Did Mortimer slip into Diablo's box, + or—” + </p> + <p> + “It was all over that rascally boy, Shandy. Diablo was just paying him + back for his ill-treatment, and I went in to rescue him, and Mortimer + risked his life to save mine.” + </p> + <p> + “He was plucky; eh, girl?” + </p> + <p> + “He fought the Black like a hero, father. But, father, you must never + think bad of Lauzanne again; if he hadn't come Mr. Mortimer would have + been too late.” + </p> + <p> + “It's dreadful, dreadful,” moaned the mother. + </p> + <p> + Allis shot a quick look at her father. He changed the subject, and + commenced talking about Alan—wondering where he was, and other + irrelevant matters. + </p> + <p> + Then there was fresh divertisement as Mike rattled up, and Doctor + Rathbone, who was of a great size, bustled in to where Mortimer lay. + </p> + <p> + Three smashed ribs and a broken arm was his inventory of the damage + inflicted by Diablo's kick, when he came out again with Porter, in an + hour. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid one of the splintered ribs is tickling his lung,” he added, + “but the fellow has got such a good nerve that I hardly discovered this + unpleasant fact. He'll be all right, however; he's young, and healthy as a + peach. Good nursing is the idea, and he'll get that here, of course. He + doesn't want much medicine; that we keep for our enemies,—ha! ha!” + and he laughed cheerily, as if it were all a joke on the battered man. + </p> + <p> + “Thim docthers is cold-blooded divils,” was Mike's comment. “Ye'd a + thought they'd been throwin' dice, an' it was a horse on the other + gintleman. Bot' t'umbs! it was, too. Still, if ould Saw-bones had been in + the box yonder wit' Diablo, he wouldn't a-felt so funny.” + </p> + <p> + “Mortimer behaved well; didn't he, Mike?” asked Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Behaved well; is it? He was like a live divil; punched thim two big + stallions till they took water an' backed out. My word! whin first I see + him come to the stable wit' Miss Allis, thinks I, here's wan av thim city + chumps; he made me tired. An' whin he talked about Lauzanne's knees, + m'aning his hocks, I had to hide me head in a grain bag. But if ye'd seen + him handle that fork, bastin' the Black, ye'd a thought it was single + sticks he was at, wit' a thousand dollars fer a knock-out.” + </p> + <p> + “One can't always tell how a colt will shape, can they, Mike?” spoke + Porter, for Mike's fanciful description was almost bringing a smile to + Mrs. Porter's troubled face. + </p> + <p> + “Ye can't, sor, an' yer next the trut' there. I've seen a herrin'-gutted + weed av a two-year-old—I remember wan now; he was a Lexington. It + was at Saratoga; an' bot' t'umbs! he just made hacks av iverythin' in + soight—spread-eagled his field. Ye wouldn't a-give two dollars fer + him, an' he come out an' cleaned up the Troy Stake, like the great horse + he was.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think Mortimer has turned out something like that; eh, Mike?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, fer a man that knows no more av horses than I know av the strology + av stars, he's a hot wan, an' that's the God's trut'.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer's gallant act had roused the Irishman's admiration. He would have + done as much himself, but that would have been expected of a horseman, + constantly encountering danger; that an office man, to be pitied in his + ignorance, should have fearlessly entered the stall with the fighting + stallions was quite a different matter. + </p> + <p> + Even Allis, with her more highly developed sense of character analyzation, + felt something of this same influence. She had needed some such + manifestation of Mortimer's integral force, and this had come with + romantic intensity in the tragic box-stall scene. This drama of the stable + had aroused no polished rhetoric; Mortimer's declamation had been + unconventional in the extreme. “Back, you devils!” he had rendered with + explosive fierceness, oblivious of everything but that he must save the + girl. The words still rang in the ears of Allis, and also the echo of her + own cry when in peril, “Mortimer!” There must have been a foreshadowing in + her soul of the man's reliability, though she knew it not. + </p> + <p> + Even without the doctor's orders, it was patent that Mortimer must remain + at Ringwood for a few days. + </p> + <p> + It was as if Philip Crane, playing with all his intense subtlety, had met + his master in Fate; the grim arbiter of man's ways had pushed forward a + chessman to occupy a certain square on the board for a time. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer had been most decisively smashed up, but his immense physique had + wonderful recuperative powers. The bone-setting and the attendant fever + were discounted by his vitality, and his progress toward recovery, was + marvelous. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + Crane heard of the accident on one of his visits to Brookfield a couple of + days later, and of course must hurry to Ringwood to see his employee. It + happened that the Reverend Mr. Dolman graced the Porter home with his + presence the same evening that Crane was there. + </p> + <p> + Naturally the paramount subject of interest was the narrow escape of Miss + Allis; but the individuality of discussion gradually merged into a crusade + against racing, led by the zealous clergyman. John Porter viewed this + trend with no little trepidation of feeling. + </p> + <p> + It was Mrs. Porter who precipitated matters by piously attributing Allis's + escape to Providence. + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly, undoubtedly!” Mr. Dolman said, putting the points of his + fingers together in front of his lean chest. He paused a moment, and + Porter groaned inwardly; he knew that attitude. The fingers were rapiers, + stilettos; presently their owner would thrust, with cutting phrase, + proving that they were all indeed a very bad lot. Perhaps John Porter + would have resented this angrily had he not felt that the Reverend + Inquisitor was really honest in his beliefs, albeit intolerably narrow in + his conclusions. + </p> + <p> + Dolman broke the temporary silence. “But we shouldn't tempt Providence by + worshiping false images. Love of animals is commendable—commendable”—he + emphasized this slight concession—“but race horses always appeal to + me as instruments of the Evil One.” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't the horse's fault at all, Mr. Dolman,” Allis interposed, “but + just a depraved human's. It was the boy Shandy's fault.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't thinking of one horse,” continued the minister, airily; “I meant + race horses in general.” + </p> + <p> + “I think Mr. Dolman is right,” ventured Mrs. Porter, hesitatingly; “it's + flying in the face of Providence for a girl to go amongst those race + horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad-tempered men make them vicious, mother,” Allis said; “and I believe + that Shandy's punishment was the visitation of Providence, if there was + any.” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Dolman's face took on an austere look. It was an insult to + the divine powers to assert that they had taken the part of a race horse. + But he turned the point to his own ends. “It's quite wrong to abuse the + noble animal; and that's one reason why I hold that racing is contrary to + the Creator's intentions, quite apart from the evil effect it has on + morals.” + </p> + <p> + “Are all men immoral who race, Mr. Dolman?” John Porter asked. + </p> + <p> + His question forced Dolman to define his position. Porter always liked + things simplified; racing was either wrong in principle or right. Dolman + found him rather a difficult man to tackle. He had this irritating way of + brushing aside generalization and forcing the speaker to get back to first + principles. + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman proceeded cautiously. “I should hardly care to go + so far as that—to make the rule absolute; a very strong man might + escape contamination, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter sighed audibly. The minister was weakening most lamentably, + giving her husband a loophole to escape. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly think racing quite so bad as it is generally supposed to be,” + interposed Crane, feeling that Porter was being pilloried somewhat. He + received a reproachful look from Mrs. Porter for his pains. + </p> + <p> + “I've never seen any good come of it,” retorted Dolman. “A Christian man + must feel that he is encouraging gambling if he countenances racing, for + they contend that without betting racing is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything in life is pretty much of a gamble,” Porter drawled, lazily; + “there aren't any such things. The ships that go to sea, the farmer's crop—everything + is more or less a matter of chance. If a man goes straight he has a fairly + easy time with his conscience, no matter what he's at; but if he doesn't, + well, he'd better go hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “A great many very honorable men are racing today,” added Crane; “men who + have built up large fortunes through honest dealing, and wouldn't be + racing if they felt that it was either unchristian or dishonorable.” + </p> + <p> + “They can't be Christians if they countenance gambling,” asserted the + minister, doggedly. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Mortimer that whenever the discussion took broader lines, + Dolman drew it back into the narrow cell of his own convictions. + </p> + <p> + Porter scratched his head perplexedly. They had been discussing the moral + influence of racing; this seemed more like theology. “It is certainly + unchristian,” commented Mrs. Porter, severely. “I haven't seen much + Christian spirit in any business,” said Porter, quietly; “they all seem + more a matter of written agreements. In fact there's more done on honor in + racing than in any of the business gambles. A man that's crooked in racing + is sure to come to grief in the long run.” + </p> + <p> + Crane shifted in his chair, and Dolman coughed deprecatingly. “For my + part,” continued Porter, “I've never found it necessary to do anything I'm + ashamed of in racing.” + </p> + <p> + His wife saw an opening. “But, John dear, you were treated most shamefully + last year; a dishonest boy hauled your horse—” + </p> + <p> + “Pulled, mother,” interposed Allis; “pulled father's horse, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, though I fail to see where the difference can be, if the horse + ran the other way and your father lost.” + </p> + <p> + Porter smiled indulgently. “The boy was punished, Helen,” he said. + “Dishonesty is not tolerated on the race course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but something is always happening,” she continued in lament. “It's + contrary to the law of the church, John. It seems just like a visitation + of divine wrath the way things happen. And you're so sanguine, John; last + year you were going to win a big race with Diablo when he threw his leg—” + </p> + <p> + “Threw a splint, mother,” prompted Allis. + </p> + <p> + “I thought your father said it was his leg had something the matter with + it,” argued Mrs. Porter. + </p> + <p> + “The splint was on his leg, mother dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not familiar with racing phrases, I must say, though I should + be, goodness knows; I hear little else. And talk of cruelty to animals!” + she turned to Mr. Dolman; “they burned the poor beast's leg with hot irons—” + </p> + <p> + The minister held up his hands in horror. + </p> + <p> + “It didn't give him as much pain as the doctor gave Mr. Mortimer setting + his arm,” declared Allis. + </p> + <p> + “But it was racing injured the horse's leg,” interposed Dolman. + </p> + <p> + “But your horse has got a ringbone, Mr. Dolman,” said Allis, “and a + spavin, too. I've been looking at him. That's because you drive him too + fast on hard roads. And his feet are contracted from neglect in shoeing. + It's just cruel the way that poor old horse has been neglected. Race + horses are much better taken care of.” + </p> + <p> + Allis's sudden onslaught switched Mr. Dolman from the aggressive to the + defensive with great celerity. + </p> + <p> + “I confess I know very little about horses,” he was forced to apologize; + then, with something of asperity, “the spiritual welfare of my + congregation takes up my entire time.” + </p> + <p> + This rebuke caused a momentary silence, and Dolman, turning to Mortimer, + said, “I hope you don't approve of racing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer didn't, but a look from Allis's eyes inexplicably enough caused + him to hedge very considerably in his reply. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about the race course,” he said, “but from what I see of + the thoroughbreds I believe a man would have to be of very low order if + their noble natures did not appeal to him. I think that courage, and + honesty, and gentleness—they all seem to have it—must always + have a good influence. Why, sir,” he continued, with a touch of + excitement, “I think a man would be ashamed to feel that he was making + himself lower than the horses he had to do with.” + </p> + <p> + Allis looked grateful. Even Porter turned half about in his chair, and + gazed with a touch of wonderment at the battered young man who had + substituted common sense for sophistical reasoning. + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman frowned. “It's not the horses at all,” he said, + “it's the men who are disreputable.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter gave a little warning cough. In his zealousness Mr. Dolman + might anger her husband, then his logic would avail little. + </p> + <p> + “The men are like the horses,” commented Porter, “some bad and some good. + They average about the same as they do in anything else, mostly good, I + think. Of course, when you get a bad one he stands out and everybody sees + him.” + </p> + <p> + “And sometimes horses—and men, too, I suppose—get a bad name + when they don't deserve it,” added Allis. “Everybody says Lauzanne is bad, + but I know he's not.” + </p> + <p> + “That was a case of this dreadful dishonesty,” said Mrs. Porter, speaking + hastily. She turned in an explanatory way to Crane. “You know, Mr. Crane, + last summer a rascally man sold my husband a crooked horse. Now, John, + what are you laughing at?” for her husband was shaking in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what a crooked horse would look like,” he answered, and + there were sobs in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why, John, when you brought him home you said he was crooked.” + </p> + <p> + As usual, Allis straightened matters out: “It was the man who was crooked. + Mother means Lauzanne,” she continued. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” proceeded the good woman, “a Mr. Langdon, I remember now, treated + my husband most shamefully over this horse.” + </p> + <p> + Crane winced. He would have preferred thumbscrews just then. “John is + honest himself,” went on Mrs. Porter, “and he believes other men, and this + horse had some drug given him to make him look nice, so that my husband + would buy him.” + </p> + <p> + “Shameful,” protested Dolman. “Are men allowed to give horses drugs?” he + appealed to Mr. Porter. + </p> + <p> + “No; the racing law is very strict on that point.” + </p> + <p> + “But evidently it is done,” contended Dolman. + </p> + <p> + “I think there's very little of it,” said Porter. + </p> + <p> + This turn of the conversation made Crane feel very uneasy. “Do you think, + Mr. Porter,” he asked, “that there was anything of that sort over + Lauzanne? Do you think Langdon would—” He hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Langdon has a tolerable idea of what I think,” answered Porter. “I + shouldn't trust that man too much if I were you. He's got cunning enough, + though, to run straight with a man like yourself, who has a horse or two + in his stable, and doesn't go in for betting very heavily.” + </p> + <p> + “I know very little about him,” protested Crane; “and, as you say, he will + probably act quite straightforward with me, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” continued Porter, half wearily, as though he wished to finish the + distasteful discussion; “there are black sheep in racing as there are in + everything else. My own opinion is that the most of the talk we hear about + crooked racing is simply talk. At least nine out of ten races are honestly + run—the best horse wins. I would rather cut off my right hand than + steal a race, and yet last summer it was said that I had pulled Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of that, John,” cried Mrs. Porter, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn't,” dryly answered her husband. + </p> + <p> + Allis smiled; she had settled that part of it with her father at the time. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll excuse me,” began Crane, rising, “I think Mr. Wortimer is + getting tired. I believe I'll jog back to Brookfield.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly the Reverend Dolman rose, too. He felt, somehow, that the + atmosphere of racing had smothered his expostulation—that he had + made little headway. The intense honesty that was John Porter's shielded + him about almost as perfectly as, a higher form of belief might have done. + </p> + <p> + But with almost a worldly cunning it occurred to the clergyman that he + could turn the drawn battle into a victory for the church; and as they + stood for a minute in the gentle bustle of leave-taking, he said: “The + ever-continuing fight that I carry on against the various forms of + gambling must necessarily take on at times almost a personal aspect—” + he was addressing Mr. Porter, ostensibly—“but in reality it is not + quite so. I think I understand your position, Mr. Porter, and—and—what + shall I say—personally I feel that the wickedness of racing doesn't + appeal to you as a great contamination; you withstand it, but you will + forgive me saying so, thousands have not the same strength of character.” + </p> + <p> + Porter made a deprecatory gesture, but Dolman proceeded. “What I was going + to say is, that you possibly realize this yourself. You have acted so + wisely, with what I would call Christian forethought, in placing your son, + Alan, in a different walk in life, and—” he turned with a grave bow + in Crane's direction—“and in good hands, too.” + </p> + <p> + “His mother wished it,” Porter said, simply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, John was very good about Alan's future,” the mother concurred. “But, + husband, you quite agreed that it was much better for Alan to be in the + bank than possibly drifting into association with—well, such + dishonorable men as this Mr. Langdon and his friends. He is so much better + off,” she continued, “with young men such as Mr. Crane would have about + him.” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Dolman smiled meekly, but it was in triumph. He had called + attention to an act which spoke far louder than Mr. Porter's disclaiming + words. + </p> + <p> + Porter was not at all deceived by the minister; in fact, he rather admired + the other's cleverness in beating him on the post. He gave a little laugh + as he said: “I should not have succeeded very well in a bank. I am more at + home with the horses than I am with figures; but I expect I would have + gone fairly straight, and hope the boy will do the same. I fancy one of + the great troubles about banking is to keep the men honest, the temptation + of handling so much money being great. They seem to have more chances to + steal than men on the race course.” + </p> + <p> + As usual, Porter seemed to be speaking out of his thoughts and without + malice; no one took offense. It was simply a straightforward answer to + Dolman's charge. + </p> + <p> + Porter had simply summed up the whole business in a very small nutshell. + That there was temptation everywhere, and that honest men and thieves were + to be found on race courses, in banks, in every business, but that, like + the horses, a fair share of them were honest. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking materially of race horses quite outside of the moral aspect,” + said Crane, as he was taking his leave, “you'll have to be mighty careful + of that Diablo, Mr. Porter, when Miss Allis is about; he seems a + vindictive brute.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, John; you'll have to sell him right away; I'll be frightened to + death while he's about the place.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never be a bit afraid of him,” remonstrated Allis; “Shandy, who + made all the mischief, has been discharged.” + </p> + <p> + “Diablo has always been more trouble than he's worth,” said Porter. “I + thought he was going to be a good horse, but he isn't; and if he has taken + to eating people I'll give him away some day. I wouldn't sell him as a + good horse, and nobody'd buy a man-eater.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll buy him when you make up your mind, Mr. Porter,” exclaimed Crane, + somewhat eagerly. “I have nobody sweet enough to tempt his appetite. In + the meantime, Miss Allis, if I were you I should keep away from him.” + </p> + <p> + Then presently, with good-nights and parting words of warning about + Diablo, the guests were gone; and Mortimer, having declined Porter's + proffered help, was somewhat awkwardly—having but one good hand—preparing + to retire in Alan's room. + </p> + <p> + His mind worked somewhat faster than his fingers; several new problems had + been given it to labor over within the compass of a single moon. That + horse racing should ever become a disturbing interest in his life had + seemed very improbable; now it was like a gale about his soul, it swayed + him. He was storm-tossed in the disturbing element; he could come to no + satisfying conclusion. On the one hand the thoroughbred horses were to be + admired; they were brave and true, creatures of love. Also Porter was an + honest man, the one thing he admired above all else. + </p> + <p> + And Miss Allis! Somehow or other his eyes wandered to a picture that + rested on a mantelpiece in the room. He took it down, looking furtively + over his shoulder as he did so, and taking it close under the lamp that + was on the table sat and gazed steadfastly into the girlish face. + </p> + <p> + Even in the photograph the big, wondrous eyes seemed to say, “What of + wrong, if we are not wrong?” That was the atmosphere so thoroughly + straightforward and honest that wrong failed of contamination. + </p> + <p> + Still it was unconvincing to Mortimer. The horses might be good, the man + honest, and the girl pure and sweet, but the life itself was distasteful. + Reason as one might, it was allied to gambling. Mortimer rose with a sigh, + the whole thing wearied him. Why should he distress his mind over the + matter? As he put the photograph back on the mantel he held it for an + instant, then suddenly; with a nervous, awkward gesture, brought it to his + lips and kissed the eyes that seemed to command tribute. + </p> + <p> + The movement twisted his broken-ribbed side and an agony of pain came to + him in quick retribution. It was as though the involuntary kiss had + lurched him forward into a futurity of misery. The spasm loosed beads of + perspiration which stood cold on his forehead. Swift taken from the + stimulant of his thoughts, his nerves overtaxed by the evening, jangled + discordantly, and he crept into bed, feeling an unutterable depression as + though the room, was filled with evil, threatening spirits. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <p> + In coincidence the two men, Mortimer and Crane, had similar thoughts the + day after Mr. Dolman's discussion; and, rather remarkably, their + deductions were alike, having the same subject of mental retrospect—Allis + Porter. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that outside of her family little interested her but + horses; certainly not a very lofty aspiration. When the conversation had + dealt with broad principles, men and their shortcomings, the previous + evening, she had centralized it in Lauzanne, picturing him as symbolical + of good acts and evil repute. Patently it was difficult to become + interested in such a young woman; actually she monopolized their thoughts. + Inconsistently the fair offender felt no recoil of this somewhat + distressing situation; her mind busied itself chiefly over the reclamation + of Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + By inheritance all the qualities of a good horse had come to him except a + submissive temper. Allis worked on the theory that his disposition had + been set awry by injudicious handling; that unlimited patience would cause + him to forget all that. He could gallop, else he had not won the race in + which he beat The Dutchman. That he had needed a stimulant that day was + because he had been soured and would not try with his wits about him. From + the time of coming back to Ringwood Allis had ridden him in all his + exercise gallops, and had asked Mike personally to supervise his stable + education. It had taken all her great patience, all her youthful + enthusiasm and faith, for the Chestnut had notions beyond all belief. At + first, missing the abuse, he almost seemed to thirst for it; tried the + gentle girl in every way—sulked, and loafed, and took little streaks + of trying to cut the course, and made false breaks as though he were going + to run with a full vigor; even laid hold of the horses with his teeth when + opportunity offered. These antics did not break the girl's faith; she rode + him with the gentle hand a woman knows and a horse soon learns to + appreciate, and gave him to understand that he was to have fair treatment. + </p> + <p> + Porter viewed this continuous performance with silent skepticism. He did + not abuse horses himself, neither did he put up with too much nonsense + from them. To him they were like children, needing a lot of tolerant + kindness, but, also, at times, to be greatly improved by a sound whipping. + Once when he suggested something of this sort to Allis, saying that + Lauzanne was a spoiled child, she admitted he was, but that thoughtless + cruelty and not indulgence had done the harm, therefore kindness was the + cure. The first sign of regeneration was the implicit faith that Lauzanne + began to place in his young mistress. At first when she put up a hand to + pet him he would jerk his head away in affright; now he snuggled her + shoulder, or nibbled at her glove in full spirit of comradarie. Then one + day in a gallop came a stronger manifestation, a brief minute of + exhilaration, with after-hours of thankfulness, and beyond that, alas for + the uncertainty of a spoiled temper, an added period of wallowing in the + Slough of Despond! + </p> + <p> + It was on a crisp, sparkling morning, and with Shandy—it was before + his downfall—on Lucretia, another stable lad, Ned Carter, on Game + Boy, and Allis on Lauzanne, the three swung off for a working gallop of a + mile or more. Lauzanne was in an inquisitive mood, as the other two raced + on in front. What was his light-weighted rider up to anyway? Why did she + always leave it to him to do just as he liked? Was she really deceiving + him? Did she wish him to lie back there behind the others always? He fell + to wondering what she would do if he were to take hold of the bit and + spread his big muscles in one rushing gallop, and go on past the others + and get home to the feed box first. He rattled the snaffle in his mouth + with nervous indecision—he had a notion to try it. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, my boy!” said Allis, as she slipped the reins back through her + fingers till they stretched tight. A dozen times she had sought in vain to + make him think she did not wish him to gallop, but something in the crisp + air this morning threw him off his guard. Why should he be forced to lag + behind? He stretched the arch of his neck straight till the bit held hard + in his mouth; the ears pitched forward in eager point; the great frame + under the girl quivered and sank closer to earth; the roar of his beating + hoofs came up to her ears, muffled by the drive of the wind that was now a + gale as the Chestnut raced into it with the speed of an express. How her + heart sang! Here was speed, and with such stride—strong, and + straight, and true! Low she crouched, and her call to Lauzanne was but a + joyous whisper. Her small hands were framed in steel, strength to steady + the big Chestnut as he swung round the course glued to the rail. On + Lauzanne sped, and to the rhythm of his big heaving quarters the girl's + soul sang a song of delight. At last, at last was coming her reward. + </p> + <p> + And then, just when everything had been achieved, when the great gallop + had brought them half up the stretch, something came to Lauzanne—perhaps + the memory of the whipping finishes; at any rate, he curled up like a dog, + threw his ears back—Allis could feel the sudden stiff prop of the + forelegs as he set himself against the rush of speed—and in a dozen + strides he was Lauzanne again, Lauzanne the Despised. + </p> + <p> + And so it had gone on for weeks, Allis working out her theory up to the + time of the trouble over Diablo. There was something in the girl's quiet + determination that was masterful; perhaps that was why she had always had + her own way at home. Now this mastery was spreading out wonderfully; + Lauzanne, and Mike, and her father, and Crane, and Mortimer, all in + different degrees of subjection, but, as Fate knew, all subject. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter's continual lament on the subject of racing had given Crane a + keynote for his line of action. It was the day following her scoring of + the tolerant husband that Crane revisited Ringwood full of his new idea. + </p> + <p> + He had an impulse to buy back Lauzanne. For almost the first time in his + life he experienced twinges of remorse; this was because of Allis. + Porter's affairs were in a bad way, and he would probably accept eagerly + an offer from Crane to lighten his load. Individually he cared little for + Porter's financial troubles, but it was a good opportunity to prepare the + way for a stronger pressing of his suit with the girl. With his usual fine + discrimination he spoke to Mrs. Porter first, intimating never so slightly + that her words had won his entire sympathy; that if her husband would sell + any of the horses he would buy them. + </p> + <p> + There was a convincing sincerity about Crane at all times; what he did he + did with the full vigor of a man believing in its truth. One might almost + have suspected that he deceived himself, that he had no conception of the + unrighteousness of his acts. At any rate, he imposed most successfully + upon the mother of Allis. Quite egotistically she attributed to herself + the trend of his friendship. In racing phrase, Crane was out for a killing + and playing his cards with consummate skill. + </p> + <p> + With the master of Ringwood he went very straight to the point. This was + possible, as Porter could not hesitate to discuss his financial condition + with his banker. Crane offered to buy Lucretia; this with him was purely a + speculation, but Porter would not part with his little mare. Then the + banker spoke of Lauzanne, saying that he felt somewhat guilty since + learning the previous evening that the horse had been doped. Porter failed + to see where Crane had anything to do with it. But the latter insisted + that he had unwittingly helped Langdon by speaking of Lauzanne as a good + horse. He had known nothing of the matter, beyond that his trainer had + assured him the horse would win; in fact, he had backed him. + </p> + <p> + Porter laughed at the idea that responsibility could attach to Crane. As + to the Chestnut, he was not worth a tenth of the three thousand he had + cost—that was well known; and if Crane or any other man sought to + buy him at that price it would savor too much of charity. At any rate, + Lauzanne belonged to Allis, and Crane would have to bargain with her. + </p> + <p> + Then there was Diablo, Crane said; his presence was a menace to Miss + Porter. + </p> + <p> + “I've nursed him for a good while,” Porter replied, “and he's a bad + betting proposition—he's too uncertain. You don't want such a horse + as that—nobody does. I'll keep him a bit longer, and put him in a + handicap or two where the purse will be worth running for, and I won't + have to back him; he'll get in with a featherweight, and some day may take + it into his head to gallop, though he's a rank bad one.” + </p> + <p> + Crane did not press the point; he understood Porter's motives throughout. + He knew the master of Ringwood was an unchanging man, very set in his + ways, adhering closely to his plans and opinions. So Crane went back to + Brookfield without purchasing a horse, saying as he left, “I claim first + privilege when you wish to sell.” + </p> + <p> + He had talked to Porter in the stable, and Mike, busy near by, heard that + part of their conversation referring to the horses. + </p> + <p> + “They haven't got money enough in the bank to take the little mare from us + yet, have they, Mike?” Porter said to Gaynor, full of his pride in + Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “That they haven't, sor,” replied Mike, proudly. “But, faith, I wish th' + gint hadn't come a-tryin' to buy her; it's bad luck to turn down a big + offer fer any horse.” + </p> + <p> + Porter smiled indulgently. This stable superstition did not appeal to him. + </p> + <p> + “It would a-broke the bad luck, sor, to have let him took the Black.” + </p> + <p> + “It would have broken his bank, you mean, Mike.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he'll break somewan's back here yet, an' I'm tellin' you that + sthraight. They say a black cat's full av th! divil, but Diablo's ould + Nick hisself, though I'm sayin'it was th' b'y Shandy's fault sp'ilin' him. + An' if it wasn't fer Miss Allis it's a pity you couldn't a-sold him the + Chestnut. He's a sawhorse—he's as heavy in th' head as a bag of + salt; he'll never do no good to nobody. Them's the kind as kapes a man + poor, eatin' their heads off, an' wan horse, or maybe two, in the stable + earnin' th' oats fer them. It's chaper to cut th' t'roats av such cattle.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you're right, Mike,” Porter answered, quietly, as he left the + stable. + </p> + <p> + Crane, driving back to Brookfield, turned over in his mind the matter of + his mission. He was satisfied. He had succeeded in the main objective + point. It would have been a good move to have acquired Lucretia, to have + tempted her owner to part with her for ready money in sight. The money + would soon have disappeared; then Porter, with a lot of bad horses on his + hand, would almost certainly have come more firmly into the grasp of + Crane. The offer to buy Lauzanne had been a bit of saving grace, a faint, + generous impulse, begot of Allis's regenerating influence; but Crane had + discovered that Porter did not at all suspect him of interest in the fraud—that + was a great something. He had also established himself firmly in Mrs. + Porter's good graces, he could see. It would be indeed strange if in the + end he did not succeed completely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <p> + Shandy's escapade with Diablo had brought a new trouble to Mike Gaynor. + </p> + <p> + The boy had been discharged with a severe reprimand from Mr. Porter, and a + punctuation mark of disapproval from the Trainer's horn-like hand. He had + departed from Ringwood inwardly swearing revenge upon everybody connected + with that place; against Diablo he was particularly virulent. + </p> + <p> + Mike tried to secure a boy in the Brookfield neighborhood to ride Diablo + in his work, but Shandy's evil tongue wagged so blatantly about the + horse's bad temper that no lad could be found to take on in the stables. + Ned Carter might have ridden Diablo at work, but the big Black was indeed + a horse of many ideas. He had taken a notion to gallop kindly while + accompanied by Lucretia and Lauzanne; worked alone he sulked and was as + awkward as a broncho of the plains. Also he disliked Carter—seemed + to associate his personality with that of Shandy's. + </p> + <p> + Mike's discontent over the hitch spread to John Porter. It was too bad; + the horses had been doing so well. For three days Diablo had no gallop. On + the fourth Porter determined to ride the horse himself; he would not be + beaten out by an ungrateful whelp like Shandy. In his day he had been a + famous gentleman jock, and still light enough to ride work. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like the idea, sor; it's not good enough,” remonstrated Mike. + </p> + <p> + But his master was obdurate. If Allis rode Lauzanne, why shouldn't he ride + Diablo? + </p> + <p> + Gaynor would have ridden the horse himself rather than have his master do + so, but he had a bad leg. Once upon a time it had been crushed against the + rail. Somebody must ride Diablo; the horse, naturally highstrung, was + becoming wild with nervousness through being knocked out of his work. + </p> + <p> + For three days after his discharge Shandy sat brooding with the low + cunning of a forest animal over his fancied ill-treatment. More than once + he had received money from Langdon for touting off to him Porter's stable + matters; now in his unreasoning bitterness he contrasted Langdon and + Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Dick's white, he is, an' I'll go git a job from him. I gits half eat by + that crazy skate, an' fired without a cent fer it. God drat 'em!” he + muttered; “I'll get even, or know why. They'll put Ned up on Diablo, will + they? The sneak! He split on me fer beltin' the Black, I know, damn him! + They ain't got another boy an' they won't git one. I'll fix that stiff, + Carter, too; then they won't have no boy.” + </p> + <p> + He drank beer, and as it irritated his ferret mind a devilish plot came + into his being and took possession of him—a plot easy of execution + because of his familiarity with the Ringwood stables. + </p> + <p> + That night he slipped through the dark, like a hyena pup, to Ringwood. + That the stable was locked mattered not. More than once, out of laziness, + Shandy had shirked going to Mike's quarters for the keys and had found + ingress by a small window, a foot square, through which the soiled straw + bedding was thrown into the yard. Standing on the dung heap, Shandy worked + open the board slide that closed this window, and wormed his weasel-form + through the small opening. He passed down the passage between the stalls + and entered a saddle room at the farther end. + </p> + <p> + “The bloomin' thing used to be on the fourth peg,” he muttered, drawing + his small figure up on tiptoe and feeling along the wall for something. + “Blow me!” and he chuckled fiendishly as his fingers encountered the cold + steel of a bit, “I'd know that snaffle in hell, if I got a feel of it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a patent device of a twist and a loose ring in the center of the + bit he clutched, which Porter had devised for Diablo's hard mouth. + </p> + <p> + Shandy gave the bridle a swing, and it clattered to the floor from its + peg. Diablo snorted and pawed the planks of his stall nervously. + </p> + <p> + “All right, my buck,” hissed Shandy, “you wait till to-morror; you'll git + the run of yer life, I'm thinkin', damn their eyes!” and he went off into + a perfect torrent of imprecation against everybody at Ringwood, hushing + his voice to a snarling whisper. Then he shut the door of the saddle room, + sat down on the floor and pulled from his pocket a knife and stub of + candle. He lighted the latter and held it flame down till a few drops of + wax formed a tiny lake; into this he stuck the candle upright, shielding + its flame with his coat. He opened the knife and laying it down, inspected + minutely the bridle which lay across his leg. + </p> + <p> + “It's Diablo's right enough,” he said; “I couldn't be mistook on the bit, + nor them strong lines.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up the knife, and holding the leather rein across the palm of + his left hand started to saw it gently with the blade. Almost instantly he + left off. “Of all the bloomin' ijits! God drat me fer a goat! He'd feel + that cut the first slip through his fingers the leather took.” + </p> + <p> + He gathered in the rein until he had it six inches from the bit. There he + cut, stopping many times, and doubling the leather close to the light to + see how deep he had penetrated. + </p> + <p> + “There, Mr. Bloody Ned!” he exclaimed at last, as inspection showed that + only the outer hard shell of the leather remained intact. “That'll just + hold till the Black takes one of his cranky spells, an' you give him a + stiff pull. God help you then!” Even this was a blasphemous cry of + exultation; not a plea for divine assistance for the man he plotted + against. + </p> + <p> + His next move proved that his cunning was of an exceptional order. From + his coat pocket he brought forth a pill box. In this receptacle Shandy + dipped a forefinger, and rubbed into the fresh cut of the leather a trifle + of blackened axle grease which he had taken from a wagon wheel before + starting out. Then he wiped the rein with his coat tail and looked at it + admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “The bloke won't see that, blast him!” + </p> + <p> + He hung the bridle up in its place, put out the candle, dropped it in his + pocket and made his way from the stable. + </p> + <p> + As he passed Diablo's stall the big Black snorted again, and plunged in + affright. + </p> + <p> + “You'll get enough of that to-morror,” sneered the boy. “I hope you and + Ned both break your damn necks. Fer two cents I'd drop somethin' in your + feed-box that'd settle you right now; but it's the skunk as split on me I + want to get even with.” + </p> + <p> + Shandy trudged back to where he nested in Brookfield and soon slept with + calm restfulness, as though no evil had ever homed in his heart. In the + first gray of the early morning he rose and went out to the race course. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <p> + The course near Ringwood had formerly been a trotting track, and was still + used at irregular intervals for the harness horses. In its primitive days + a small, square, box-like structure had done duty as a Judges' Stand. With + other improvements a larger structure had been erected a hundred yards + higher up the stretch. + </p> + <p> + It was to the little old stand that Shandy took his way. Inside he waited + for the coming of Gaynor's string of gallopers as supremely happy in his + unrighteous work as any evil-minded boy might be at the prospect of + unlimited mischief. + </p> + <p> + “Ned'll ride Diablo, sure; there's nothin' else to it,” he muttered. “I + hope he breaks his blasted neck. I'll pay 'em out fer turnin' me off like + a dog,” he continued, savagely, the small ferret eyes blazing with fury. + “I'll learn the damn—Hello!” His sharp ears had caught the muffled + sound of hoofs thudding the turf in a slow, measured walk. He peeped + between the boards. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's Mike. And the girl, too—blast her! She blamed me fer near + bein' eat alive by that black devil of a dope horse. Hell!” + </p> + <p> + This ambiguous exclamation was occasioned by the sight of his former + master springing into the saddle on Diablo's back. + </p> + <p> + “That's the game, eh? God strike me dead! I hope you git enough of him. My + arms ache yet from bein' near pulled out of the sockets by that + leather-mouthed brute. Gee, if the boss hasn't got spurs on! If he ever + tickles the Black wit' 'em—say, boys, there'll be a merry hell to + pay, and no pitch hot.” + </p> + <p> + The young Arab spoke to the boards as though they were partners in his + iniquity. Then he chuckled diabolically, as in fancy he saw Porter being + trampled by the horse. + </p> + <p> + “The girl's on Lauzanne,” he muttered; “she's the best in the lot, if she + did run me down. A ridin' that sorrel mut, too, when she ought to be in + the house washin' dishes. A woman ain't got no more business hangin' + 'round the stable than a man's got in the kitchen. Petticoats is the + devil; I never could abide 'em.” Shandy sometimes harked back to his early + English Whitechapel, for he had come from the old country, and had brought + with him all the depravity he could acquire in the first five years of his + existence there. + </p> + <p> + “Ned's got the soft snap in that blasted bunch,” as his eye discovered + Carter on Lucretia. “He's slipped me this go, but I've nobbled the boss, + so I don't care. I'm next 'em this trip.” + </p> + <p> + As the three horses and their riders came on to the course he pulled out a + cheap stop-watch Langdon had equipped him with for his touting, and + started and stopped it several times. + </p> + <p> + “You'll pay fer their feed, you damn ole skinflint,” he was apostrophizing + Porter, “an' I'll be next the best they can do, an' stan' in on the + rake-off. Gee! I thought they was out fer a trial,” he muttered, looking + disconsolately at the three as they cantered the first part of the + journey. “I'll ketch 'em at the half, on the off chance,” he added. + </p> + <p> + But though the timepiece in his hand clicked impatiently, after he pressed + the stem with his thumb, as Diablo's black nozzle showed past the + half-mile post, the three horses still cantered. Lauzanne was loping + leisurely with the action of a wooden rocking-horse. Lucretia, her long, + in-tipped ears cocked eagerly forward, was throwing her head impatiently + into the air as though pleading for just one strong gallop. Diablo's neck + was arched like the half of a cupid's bow; his head, almost against his + chest, hung heavy in the reins tight-drawn in Porter's strong hands. His + eyes, showing full of a suspicious whiteness, stood out from his lean, + bony head; they were possessed of a fretful, impatient look. Froth flecked + back from the nervous, quivering lips, and spattered against his black + satin-skinned chest, where it hung like seafoam on holding sand. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa! Steady, old boy!” Porter was coaxing soothingly. “Steady, boy!” + </p> + <p> + “The ease up has put the very deuce into this fellow,” he flung over his + shoulder to Allis, who was at Diablo's quarter. “He's a hard-mouthed brute + if ever there was one.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be all right, dad,” she called forward, raising her voice, for the + wind cut her breath; “Shandy rode him with a heavy hand, that's why.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll put a rubber bit in his mouth, to soften it,” he pumped brokenly. + “Let out a wrap, girl, and we'll breeze them up the stretch; come on. + Carter, get to the front with the mare.” A quarter of a mile from the + finish the horses raced into a swinging stride. Diablo was simply mad with + a desire to gallop; but in the saddle was his master; no horse ever did as + he wished with John Porter. Battling against the sharps his honesty might + handicap him out of the strife, but in the saddle the elation of movement + crept into his sinews, and he was superb, a king. As a jockey, he would + have been unsurpassed. It filled his heart with delight to play with the + fierce, imperious animal he rode. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, my boy—no you don't!” This as Diablo stuck his neck + straight out like an arrow and sought to hold the bit tight against the + bridle teeth, that he might race at his own sweet will. Back came the + right hand, then the left, three vicious saws, and the bit was loose and + Diablo's head drawn down again close to the martingale. Lucretia and + Lauzanne were pulling to the front. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” called Porter to Ned Carter; “I want to see the little mare in + her stride. Take them out at three-quarter gallop down the back stretch. + I'll be treading your heels off.” + </p> + <p> + By this they were opposite the old stand, where Shandy was hiding. The + boy, surmising that a gallop was on, and anxious to see them as they + rounded the turn going down the back, had knocked a board loose to widen + the crack. As the horses came abreast, Shandy, leaning forward in his + eagerness, dislodged it at the top, and it fell with a clatter, carrying + him half through the opening. The wind was blowing fair across the little + stand, so the scent of the boy came to Diablo's nostrils at the same + instant the startling noise reached his nervous ears. In a swerve he + almost stopped, every muscle of his big body trembling in affright. Porter + was nearly thrown from his seat by this crouching side step; the horse + seemed to shrink from under him. Just for an instant, but the reins had + flapped loose against the wet neck and Diablo felt freedom. With a snort + he plunged forward like a wounded buck, and raced madly after Lucretia, + who had bolted when the crash came. + </p> + <p> + Porter had lost a stirrup in the sudden twist, and the reins had slipped + through his fingers as he grabbed the mane on Diablo's wither to pull his + weight back into the saddle. + </p> + <p> + Now the black neck was straight and taut, flatcapped by the slim ears that + lay close to the throatlatch. The thunder of his pounding hoofs reached to + the ears of Lucretia and Lauzanne in front, and urged them onward. Carter + had sat down in the saddle, and taken a steadying pull at the brown mare. + Even Lauzanne seemed lifted out of his usual lethargy, and, widemouthed, + was pulling Allis out of the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Curse the brute!” gasped Porter, burying his knees in the saddle flaps, + and searching for the dangling stirrup with the toe of his right foot. + Once he almost had it, but missed; the iron, swinging viciously, caught + Diablo in the flank—it made little difference, his terror was + complete. All the time Porter was kneading the dangling reins back through + forefinger and thumb, shortening his hold for a strong pull at the + galloping brute's head. + </p> + <p> + “Who-o-o-a-h, who-o-o-ah, stead-y!” and, bracing himself against the + pummel he swung the weight of his shoulders on the reins. As well might he + have pulled at the rock of Gibraltar. Diablo's head was up, his teeth set + hard and the man's strength was as nothing against the full-muscled neck + of the big horse. Diablo was cutting down the lead the other two held over + him, galloping like a demon. Porter felt that he must loosen the bit and + throw that set head down to get command of the horse. One fierce yank to + the right and the black head swayed a trifle; another to the left and—God + in heaven! the rein snapped, and its loose end came back, slashing the + rider across the face. He reeled with the recoil, nearly bringing Diablo + to his knees with the sudden swing of weight on the right rein. Porter's + brain jerked foolishly for an instant; then he was the trained horseman + again, and had let the remaining leather slip through his fingers a + trifle. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” he shouted to those in front; “go on—give me a lead! Hang + to the course!” + </p> + <p> + He realized now that the crazed brute under him must run himself out. All + he could do was to sit tight and wait till Diablo had raced himself to a + standstill. To use the one rein meant a crash into the rail, and surely + death. Before, he had thought only of the horse's welfare; now it was a + matter of his own life. All that remained to him was to keep a cool head, + a steady nerve, and wait. + </p> + <p> + Freed of restraint, not battled with, the Black's stride lengthened, his + nostrils spread wider, the hoofs pounded quicker and quicker until the + earth echoed with their palpitating beat. The other horses heard the + turmoil, and they, too, became more afraid, and took up the mad rush. + </p> + <p> + Diablo's reaching nose was at Lauzanne's hip when Allis took one swift + backward glance. She saw the dangling rein, the set look in her father's + face, the devil eyes of the horse, and for one breath-gasp her heart + fluttered in its beat. As quickly she put the fear from her, and swinging + Lauzanne a shade wide, left Diablo more room next the rail. + </p> + <p> + “On, Lauzanne!” she called through drawn lips; and hitched encouragingly + in the saddle. + </p> + <p> + Lucretia was still in front, her speed mocking at the swift rush of + Lauzanne and Diablo. But how the Black galloped! Every post saw him + creeping up on the Chestnut, and Allis riding and nursing him to keep the + runaway hemmed in at the turns, so that he could not crash through the + outer rail. No one spoke again. Each knew that nothing was left to do but + keep Diablo to the course, and ride, ride. + </p> + <p> + Just in front of Lauzanne, with swinging stride raced the brown mare, + waiting till the Chestnut should drop back beaten, to take up the running + with Diablo. That was Carter's good judgment; and he rode as though it + were the Derby, and he was nursing his mount for the last call at the + finish. + </p> + <p> + At the three quarters Lauzanne and Diablo were neck and neck; at the half, + the Black was lapped on Lucretia; another furlong and she was laboring to + keep her place, nose and nose with him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm done,” panted Carter, feeling the mare swerve and falter; “I'm done—God + help us!” + </p> + <p> + Still there was no check in the Black's gallop; he was like a devil that + could go on forever and ever. + </p> + <p> + They had turned into the straight with Lucretia a neck to the bad, when + Carter heard the girl's voice faintly calling, “Pull out, Ned!” The boy + thought it fancy. Lauzanne the Despised couldn't be there at their heels. + He had thought him beaten off long ago. But again the voice came, a little + stronger, “Pull out, Ned!” + </p> + <p> + This time there was no mistake. It might be a miracle, but it was his duty + to obey. As he galloped, Carter edged Lucretia to the right. Without + looking back he could feel Lauzanne creeping up between him and Diablo. + Soon the Chestnut's head showed past his elbow, and they were both lapped + on the Black. Halfway up the stretch Allis was riding stirrup to stirrup + with her father. Porter's weight was telling on Diablo. + </p> + <p> + “She's got him. Lauzanne'll hold him if he doesn't quit,” Carter muttered, + as he dropped back, for Lucretia was blown. + </p> + <p> + Past the finish post Lauzanne was a head in front, and Diablo was + galloping like a tired horse. + </p> + <p> + “He's beat!” ejaculated Carter. “Hello! that's it, eh? My word, what a + girl!” + </p> + <p> + He saw Allis reach down for the slack rein running from her father's hand + to Diablo's mouth. “Missed! She's got it!” he cried, eagerly. “The devil!” + </p> + <p> + As Allis grasped Diablo's rein, the horse, with sudden fury at being drawn + toward Lauzanne, his old foe, snapped at the Chestnut. As he did so, + thrown out of his stride, his forelegs crossed and he went down in a heap + with the rider underneath. The force of his gallop carried the Black full + over onto his back. He struggled to his feet, and stood, shaking like a + leaf, with low-stretched neck and fearcocked ears, staring at the crushed, + silent figure that lay with its face smothered in the soft earth. In a + dozen jumps Allis stopped Lauzanne, threw herself from the saddle, and + leaving the horse ran swiftly back to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God! he's dead, he's dead!” she cried, piteously, the nerve that + had stood the strain of the fierce ride utterly shattered and unstrung at + sight of the senseless form. + </p> + <p> + “He's not dead,” said Carter, putting his hand over Porter's heart. “It's + just a bad shake-up. Mike's coming, and we'll soon get him home. He'll be + all right, Miss Allis—he'll be all right,” he kept muttering in a + dazed manner, as he raised her father's head to his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Take Lucretia and gallop for the docthor, Miss 'Allis,” commanded Mike + coming up on the run. “We'll get yer father home in the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + “In God's mercy, don't let him die, Mike,” and bending down she pressed + her lips to the cold forehead that was driven full of sand. “Get him home + quick, and try not to let mother see. I'll take Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + Lauzanne had followed her and was standing waiting; his big eyes full of a + curious wonderment. Mike lifted Allis to the saddle. As he drew back his + hand he looked at it, then up at the girl. “Don't cry, Miss,” he said, + struggling a little with his voice that was playing him tricks; “yer + father's just stunned a bit. The dochtor'll brace him up all right.” + </p> + <p> + “It's bad business, this,” he continued, as Allis galloped on her errand, + and he helped Carter lift the injured man. “There, that's roight; jist + carry his legs; I'll take him under the back.” + </p> + <p> + As they moved slowly toward the buggy that stood in the paddock, Diablo + followed at their heels as though he had done nothing in the world but + take a mild gallop. “Ye black divil!” muttered Mike, looking over his + shoulder; “ye've murthered wan av the best min as iver breathed. If I'd me + way, I'd shoot ye. I'd turn ye into cat meat; that's what ye'r fit for!” + </p> + <p> + “What broke the rein?” he asked of Carter as they neared the buggy; “what + started thim goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody was in the old stand,” Carter replied, as putting his foot on + the step he raised himself and the dead weight of the limp man. + </p> + <p> + “There, steady, Ned. Pull the cushion down in the bottom. Now ye've got + it. Bot' t'umbs! it's as good as an ambulance. I'll hold his head in me + lap, an' ye drive. Here, Finn,” he continued, turning to the boy who had + caught and brought up Lucretia, “take the wee filly an' that divil's baste + back to the barn; put the busted bridle by till I have a good look at it + after. Go on, Ned; slow; that's it, aisy does it. When we get out on the + turnpike ye can slip along.” + </p> + <p> + When they had turned into the road he spoke again to Carter, “Ye were + sayin', Ned, there was a guy in th' ould stan'.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Carter; “somebody was toutin' us off. A board broke, an' + that frightened the boss's mount.” + </p> + <p> + “I t'ought I see a b'y skinnin' off the track,” commented Gaynor. “First I + t'ought it was Shandy, but what'd he be doin' there? Did ye see his face, + Ned?” + </p> + <p> + “I was too busy takin' a wrap on Lucretia; she was gettin' a bit out of + hand.” + </p> + <p> + When they came to the gate which gave entrance to Ringwood house Mike said + to Carter, with rough sympathy in his voice: “Slip in ahead, Ned, and tell + the Misses that the boss has had a bit av a spill. Say he's just stunned; + no bones broke. Bot' t'umbs! though, I fear he's mashed to a jelly. Ask + fer a bottle of brandy till we give him a bracer. Ned!” he called, as + Carter slipped from the buggy, “see if ye kin kape the Misses from seein' + the boss till the docthor comes. Git hould of the girl Cynthie, an' give + her the tip that things is purty bad. Go on now; I'll drive slow wid wan + hand.” + </p> + <p> + Mike's kindly precautions were of little avail. Mrs. Porter saw the + slow-moving conveyance crawling up the broad drive, and instinctively knew + that again something terrible had occurred. That Allis was not there added + to her fear. + </p> + <p> + “He's just bad, ma'am,” Carter was saying, as Mike reached the steps. But + she didn't hear him; her face was white, and in her eyes was the horror of + a great fear, but from her lips came no cry; her silence was more dreadful + than if she had called out. + </p> + <p> + “We'll carry him, ma'am,” Mike said, as she came down the steps to the + buggy, and clutching the wheel rim swayed unsteadily. “Jest git a bed + ready, Misses,” Gaynor continued, softly; “git a bed ready, an' he'll be + all roight afther a bit. He's just stunned; that's all, just stunned!” + </p> + <p> + It was curious how the sense of evil had limited each one's vocabulary. + </p> + <p> + “Let me help,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, speaking for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “We'll carry him, Misses—he's just stunned,” repeated Mike, in a + dreary monotone, as feeling each step carefully with his toe he and Carter + bore the still senseless form into the house. The wife had got one of the + battered hands between her own, and was walking with wide, dry, staring + eyes close to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “O John, John! Speak to me. Open your eyes and look at me. You're not + dead; O God! you're not dead!” she cried, passionately, breaking down, and + a pent-up flood of tears coming to the hot, dry eyes as the two men laid + Porter on the bed that Cynthia had made ready. + </p> + <p> + “There, Misses, don't take on now,” pleaded Mike. “The boss is jest + stunned; that's all. I've been that way a dozen toimes meself,” he added, + by way of assurance. “Where's the brandy? Lift his head, Ned; not so much. + See!” he cried, exultantly, as the strong liquor caused the eyelids to + quiver; “see, Misses, he's all roight; he's jest stunned; that's all. + There's the dochtor now. God bless the little woman! She wasn't long!” + </p> + <p> + The sound of wheels crunching the gravel, with a sudden stop at the porch, + had come to their ears. + </p> + <p> + “Come out av the room, Ma'am,” Mike besought Mrs. Porter; “come out av the + room an' lave the docthor bring the boss 'round.” He signaled to Cynthia + with his eyes for help in this argument. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mrs. Porter,” seconded Cynthia, “go out to the porch; Miss Allis and + I will remain here with the doctor to get what's needed.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, a fall, eh,” commented Dr. Rathbone, cheerily, coming briskly into + the room. Then he caught Mike's eye; it closed deliberately, and the + Irishman's head tipped never so slightly toward Mrs. Porter. + </p> + <p> + “Now 'clear the room,' as they say in court,” continued the doctor, with a + smile, understanding Mike's signal. “We mustn't have people about to + agitate Porter when he comes to his senses. I'll need Cynthia, and perhaps + you'd better wait, too, Gaynor. Just take care of your mother, Miss Allis. + I'll have your father about in a jiffy.” + </p> + <p> + “He's jest stunned; that's all!” added Mike, with his kindly, parrotlike + repetition. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a million years to the wife that she waited for the doctor's + outcoming. Twice she cried in anguish to Allis that she must go in; must + see her husband. + </p> + <p> + “He may die,” she pleaded, “and I may never see his eyes again. Oh, let me + go, Allis, I'll come back, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait here, mother,” commanded the girl. “Doctor Rathbone will tell us if—if—” + she could not finish the sentence—could not utter the dread words, + but clasping her mother's hands firmly in her own, kept her in the chair. + Once Mike came out and said, “He's jest stunned, Ma'am. The docthor says + he'll be all roight by an' by.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't die—” + </p> + <p> + “He's worth a dozen dead men, Ma'am; he's jest stunned; that's all!” + </p> + <p> + There was another long wait, then Dr. Rathbone appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Porter will be all right, Madame; it'll take time; it'll take time—and + nursing. But you're getting used to that,” he added, with a smile, “but,” + and he looked fixedly at Allis, “he must have quiet; excitement will do + more harm than the fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the truth, doctor,” pleaded Mrs. Porter, struggling to her feet, + and placing both hands on his shoulders, “I can stand it—see, I'm + brave.” + </p> + <p> + “I've told you the truth, Mrs. Porter,” the doctor answered. “There's no + fear for your husband's recovery if he has quiet for a few days.” + </p> + <p> + She looked into his eyes. Then crying, “I believe you, doctor; thank God + for his mercy!” swayed, and would have fallen heavily but for Mike's ready + arm. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be better after that,” said the doctor, addressing Allis. “It has + been a hard pull on her nerves. Just bathe her temples, and get her to + sleep, if you can. I'll come back soon. Your father is not conscious, or + will he be, I'm thinking, for a day or two. He has heavy concussion. + Cynthia has full directions what to do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <p> + After Dr. Rathbone had left Mike and Carter went down to the stables. + </p> + <p> + “I'll jest have a look at that broke rein,” said Gaynor; “that sthrap was + strong enough to hang Diablo. If there's not some dirty business in this, + I'll eat me hat. T'umbs up! but it was a gallop, though. The Black kin + move whin he wants to.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you think of old Lauzanne?” exclaimed Carter. “He just wore + Diablo down, hung to him like a bulldog, an' beat him out.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the girl's ridin'; an' Lauzanne was feared, too. He's + chicken-hearted; that's what he is. Some day in a race he'll get away in + front av his horses, an' beat 'em by the length av a street. He'll be a + hun'red to wan, an' nobody'll have a penny on.” + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at the stable Mike headed straight for the harness room. + The light was dim, coming from a small, high, two-paned window; but Mike + knew where every bridle and saddle should be. He put his hand on Diablo's + headgear, and bringing it down carried it through the passage to a stable + door where he examined it minutely. + </p> + <p> + “Jest what I tought. Look at that,” and he handed it to Carter for + inspection. “How do ye size that up, Ned?” + </p> + <p> + “The rein's been cut near through,” replied Carter. “I wonder it held as + long as it did.” + </p> + <p> + “A dirty, low-down trick,” commented Mike. “I'll hang it back on the peg + just now, but don't use it again fer a bit.” + </p> + <p> + As he reentered the saddle room briskly his heel slipped on the plank + floor, bringing him down. “I'd take me oath that was a banana peel, if it + was on the sidewalk,” he exclaimed, after a gymnastic twist that nearly + dislocated his neck. “Some of ye fellows is pretty careless wit' hoof + grease, I'm thinkin'.” + </p> + <p> + More out of curiosity than anything else he peered down at the cause of + his sudden slip. “What the divil is it, onyway?” he muttered, kneeling and + lighting a match, which he held close to the spot. “Bot' t'umbs!” he + exclaimed, “it's candle grease. Have aither of ye b'ys been in here wit' a + candle? It's agin the rules.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't a candle about the barn, an' you know it, Mike,” cried + Carter, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + Mike was prospecting the floor with another light. + </p> + <p> + “Here's two burnt matches,” he continued, picking them up. “An' they were + loighted last night, too. See that, they're long, an' that means that they + wasn't used for lightin' a pipe or a cigar—jes' fer touchin' off a + candle, that's all. I know they was loighted last night,” he said, as + though to convince himself, “fer they're fresh, an' ain't been tramped on. + If they'd been here fer two or three days, roight in front of the door, + they'd have the black knocked off 'em wid ye boys' feet. This wan didn't + light at all hardly, an' there's a little wool fuzz stickin' to it. Gee! + that manes some wan sthruck it on his wool pants. Git the lantern, Ned, + p'raps we'll fin' out somethin' more. The light from that high up winder + ain't good enough fer trackin' a bear.” + </p> + <p> + When the lantern was brought, Mike continued his detective operations, + nose and eyes close to the floor, like a black tracker. + </p> + <p> + “What's that, Ned?” he asked, pointing his finger at a dark brown spot on + the boards. + </p> + <p> + Carter crouched and scrutinized Mike's find. “Tobacco spit,” and he gave a + little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Roight you are; that's what it is. Now who chaws tobaccie in this + stable?” he demanded of Carter, with the air of a cross-examining counsel. + </p> + <p> + “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Finn?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I don't think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't Shandy always have a gob of it in his cheek—the dirty pig?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did, Mike.” + </p> + <p> + “I t'ought so; I t'ought it was that blackguard. But how did the swine get + in here? The stable was locked, an' I had the key in me pocket. I'll take + me oath to that.” + </p> + <p> + Carter took his cap off, ran a hand reflectively up and down the crown of + his head, canvassing every possible entry there might be to the stalls. + Suddenly he replaced his cap and whistled softly. “I know, Mike; he + crawled through the dung window. I've seen him do it half a dozen times. + When he was too lazy to go for the keys, he'd wiggle through that hole.” + </p> + <p> + Mike said nothing, but led the way to the back of the stable. There he + climbed upon the pile of rotting straw, and examined closely the small, + square opening, with its board slide, through which Shandy had passed the + night before. + </p> + <p> + “God! I t'ought so!” he ejaculated. “Here's more tobacco spit, where the + cutt'roat divil stood when he opened the winder.” + </p> + <p> + Looking down, his eye caught the glint of something bright deep in the + straw. He dug his hand down into the mass and brought up a knife. “Whose + is that, Ned?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + Carter looked at it closely. “Shandy's,” he answered; “I'll swear to that. + I've borrowed it from him more than once to clean out the horses' hoofs.” + </p> + <p> + “Bot' t'umbs up! I'd hang that b'y to a beam if I had him here. He cut + that rein as sure as God made little apples,” declared Mike, vehemently. + “An' the gall av him to go an' sit there in the ould stand to watch the + Black run away wit' somewan an' kill 'em. Now jest kape yer mouth shut, + Ned, an' we'll put a halter on this rooster. By hivins! when I git him + I'll make him squale, too!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <p> + The seriousness of Porter's accident became clearer to Doctor Rathbone the + following day. He imparted this information to Allis; told her that in all + probability it would be weeks before her father would be strong again. + </p> + <p> + “In the meantime, little woman, what are you to do with all these hungry + horses on your hands?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The girl's answer came quickly enough, for she had lain awake through all + the dreary night, thinking out this problem. Without medical knowledge she + had felt certain that her father was badly injured, and the gloomy future + had come to her in the darkness instead of sleep. + </p> + <p> + “I'll look after them,” she answered the doctor, quite simply. + </p> + <p> + A smile of skepticism hovered about his full lips, as he raised his eyes + to the girl's face, but the look of determination, of confidence that he + met put his doubts to flight. “I believe you can do it, if any man can,” + and he put his big hand on her slight shoulders, as much as to say, “I'm + behind you; I believe in you.” + </p> + <p> + Of course an inkling of Porter's condition had to be given his wife, + though the full gravity was masked. This was done by Allis, and Mrs. + Porter immediately became a prey to abject despair. + </p> + <p> + The first thing to be done was to get rid of Diablo. She was too gentle to + ask that he be shot, but he must go, even if he be given away. She would + willingly have sacrificed all the horses. Always with their presence had + come financial troubles, spiritual troubles; now the lives of those dear + to her were in actual peril. No wonder the good woman was rendered + hysterical by the strong emotions that swayed her. + </p> + <p> + In her depression she somewhat startled Allis by insisting that they must + send for Mr. Crane at once. After all, it was not so unreasonable; with + the master of Ringwood helpless, who else could they consult with over + their entangled condition? For, the past year Porter had found it + necessary to keep in constant touch with the bank; so they must become + familiar with the details of the entanglement. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter had come to have the utmost confidence in Crane's friendship + and ability; he was the one above all others to have Diablo taken off + their hands. So Philip Crane, to his intense delight, was summoned to + Ringwood. This was his first knowledge of Porter's mishap, for he had been + in New York. + </p> + <p> + Crane was supposed to possess a rare magnetism; most certainly men came + under his influence with a noiseless, cheerful complaisance. It may have + been that there was a slight fascination in the oblique contour of his + eyes, but in reality his power lay in his exquisite finesse; people delved + for him under the impression that they were laboring according to the + dictates of their own sweet wills. Figuratively speaking, he twisted Mrs. + Porter round his finger, and so delightfully, that she was filled with + gratitude because of Crane's kindness in their hour of trouble. + </p> + <p> + The matter of Diablo was settled in a minute; he would buy the horse + himself, and the price could be arranged when Mrs. Porter was able to + discuss the matter—that is, definitely; in the meantime he would pay + a thousand for him. He understood Porter had bough him for that price. + With a touch of kindly humor, Crane declared that he would have a small + bet on the horse for Allis the first time he started. + </p> + <p> + Beyond parting with Diablo, Allis would not go farther in the matter of + selling the horses; this was the full extent of her concession to the + mother. Had she known that her father had entered Diablo in the Brooklyn + Handicap she might even have refused to part with the horse. As it + happened, Porter had entered both Lucretia and Diablo in the Brooklyn a + day or so before his accident, but had not spoken of it. + </p> + <p> + Crane assured Mrs. Porter that she need not distract her mind over money + matters, the bank could easily carry their lead until her husband was + himself again. No matter how things turned out, it was a delicate matter + to touch upon, the possibility of Porter's condition taking a serious + turn, but coming from Crane it seemed like an earnest of his sincerity—well, + Mrs. Porter would find a friend in him, quite willing and able to smooth + their difficult path. + </p> + <p> + Crane had meant to defer any protestations of regard for Allis until a + propitious future, but with his quick perception he saw that the + psychological moment had been moved forward by the sudden effacement of + the master of Ringwood. If he spoke now to Mrs. Porter it would give her a + right to call upon his services. He would appear in the light of a debtor; + it would break down barriers which might seem to exist because of their + non-relationship. + </p> + <p> + Crane had not been without a suspicion that the younger man, Mortimer, + might prove a rival; heroics such as the Diablo episode were apt to give + young people a romantic interest in each other; Fate had more than evened + matters up by giving him the present opportunity. He thought with some + satisfaction how perfectly helpless Mortimer was in the present instance, + for he was most undeniably poor. It was an opportunity to be grasped; and + Crane never let the tide pass its flood in the waters of his life. + </p> + <p> + So the banker spoke to Mrs. Porter of his strong love for Allis; so + delicately, and with so much sincerity, that she was completely won over. + It is true, the ground had been prepared for the seed, for the mother had + long feared that Allis might become attached to some one of Porter's + racing associates. Though strong in spiritual matters, the good woman was + not without worldly instinct. She was pleased with Crane personally; he + was not by any means a racing man; a rich banker, who would make a most + desirable husband for her daughter. Of course, it would rest with the girl + herself. Mrs. Porter would not coerce nor influence her; but why should + not Allis come to care for Crane under the influence of his strong love? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter's mind had rebounded from its dazed condition after her + husband's accident, and was now acute. All these thoughts came to her with + rapidity, as Crane talked with masterly judgment. + </p> + <p> + To the mother's suggestion that he speak to Allis he put forward a plea of + delicate consideration for the girl; he would rather deny himself; he + would wait patiently until her mind was in a happier condition. Cleverly + enough he knew that Mrs. Porter was now his ally, and would plead his + cause with less chance of failure than if he startled Allis by the sudden + fronting of life's great problem. + </p> + <p> + When Crane had gone Allis found her mother calmed by his visit; his + assurances had driven away distressing clouds of financial worry. + </p> + <p> + Almost immediately Mrs. Porter transmitted to the girl what had come to + her of Crane's declaration. + </p> + <p> + “It seems almost like an answer to my prayer,” she said to Allis; “not, of + course”—she interrupted herself—“that I've been praying for a + husband for you, but this wicked racing has warped the whole woof of my + life; it seemed inevitable in the strength of its contaminating atmosphere + that you would be wedded into it, though one were better dead than + willingly choose a path of sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you've settled it, mother!” Allis's big eyes took on a dangerous + look of rebellion. + </p> + <p> + “No, daughter; you must choose for yourself; only you will be wise not to + go contrary to your parent's wishes. I did—” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not sorry, mother?” there was reproach in the girl's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Not for having wedded your father, but because of his racing life. I + should have been firmer, and asked him to give it up before I married him. + He might have done it then. Mr. Crane is a gentleman, Allis. That is a + great deal nowadays, and he loves you most sincerely. Words often mean + very little, but one can tell—at least when they've come to years of + discretion they can—from a man's voice whether he is in earnest or + not. I suppose it is very worldly to speak of his riches, but in poverty + one can do very little, very little good. I had rather that you didn't + have to look with misgiving into the future, Allis; it has taken much joy + out of my existence. The dread of poverty is a nightmare; it wears one's + life threadbare. To the young, buoyed up by confidence in the rosy future, + this may seem sordid, but this feeling of insecurity mars many lives which + might otherwise be happy. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Allis,” her mother continued, “I know you are heart-whole, so I + can't cause you any misery by my well-meant advice. You've been a good + girl, and there has been nobody of your class about. Mr. Mortimer is, I + dare say, a gentleman, and I must confess I was afraid that you might + mistake a feeling of generosity to him for something stronger; but that + was only an idle fancy, I see. It would have been unfortunate if it were + otherwise, for he is very poor indeed. His small salary must be all taken + up in keeping himself, his widowed mother, and a younger sister.” + </p> + <p> + Allis gave a sudden start. She had not known these particulars of + Mortimer's life; but they carried certain explanations of his conduct. + Quite casually she had formed an impression that he was penurious; + something he had dropped about not being able to afford certain pleasures. + That was where the money went—to support his mother and sister. + Unwittingly her mother was pleading the cause of two men. + </p> + <p> + The mother's talk depressed Allis greatly. Why should this troublesome + matter come to her when she had so much to bear, so much to do. It gave + her quite a shock to find that as her mother talked she was not thinking + of Crane at all. She could not picture his face, even; just the + narrow-lidded eyes peeped at her in her thoughts once or twice; it would + be horrible to look into them forever and ever. The face of Mortimer, pale + and firm-set as it had been in that day of strife, was always obliterating + the other visage. Was her mother right? Was she so heart-whole? As if her + thoughts had bearing on her mother's mind, the latter said: “I wouldn't + have spoken to you of this matter while your father is so ill if it + weren't for the fact that our position is very precarious. I can't + understand just how badly off we are, but if anything were to happen your + father, I hardly know what would become of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Crane has promised to help us if—if—” There was a + hard ring in the girl's voice as she spoke, getting not past the “if,” + refusing to put into words the distressing thought. + </p> + <p> + “There is no 'if' about it, daughter. Mr. Crane is our friend, your + father's friend, and he is going to help us; and he only spoke of his + regard for you by way of an excuse—it was delicacy on his part, + thinking that I would have less compunction in accepting his good offices. + All I ask, girl, is that you will try to like Mr. Crane; if you can't, + well, you won't find me making you unhappy. But I can tell you this, + Allis, unless matters mend, and how the change is to come I can't say, + your father will lose Ringwood and it will belong to Mr. Crane. Even if + the horses were sold off, the money would not clear the debts; besides, I + think that even the horses are encumbered.” + </p> + <p> + Allis stood in indecision for a little, thinking deeply; then she went up + to her mother, and, taking her face in her hands, kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I understand, mother,” she said, “you are worrying over the dear old + place, over my future, and over father, and it is nothing but worry, + worry, worry all the time. But I'll save Ringwood for you, mother. I hope + father will soon be well again and that luck will change; but anyway, + mother, I promise you that no matter what effort it costs me you sha'nt + sacrifice the dear old place.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter's eyes were wet with tears of gratitude. She was thinking only + of the redemption of the place through Crane; but Allis's words had meant + far more than she had taken from them. They were inspired by a faith that + she could save their fortunes without sacrificing herself to Crane. If + not, if she failed, she was brave, she was a Porter, and would keep her + word and save Ringwood, even at that price. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <p> + Journeying back to New York, Crane reviewed in detail his interview with + Mrs. Porter. He congratulated himself upon his wisdom in having instituted + his love suit by proxy. With all his masterfulness he was very + considerably in awe of Miss Allis. There was a not-to-be-daunted + expression in her extraordinary eyes which made him feel that a love tilt + with her would be a somewhat serious business. He pictured himself as an + ardent lover; he would cut a droll figure in that role, he knew; emotions + were hardly in his line. He might feel such an assertive emotion as love + quite as strongly as anyone, in fact, did, but could he express himself + with faultless consistency? He rather doubted it. His usual slow-advancing + method was certainly ordained of this intricate endeavor; and he had made + great progress with the mother, the one above all others to be placated; + adversity, continuous as it promised to be, would probably settle Porter's + influence in his favor. His plan of action plainly was to be often at + Ringwood to familiarize the household with his presence. The acquiring of + Diablo would facilitate that. + </p> + <p> + Diablo—a skate! He laughed to himself over his purchase. Certainly + Langdon would laugh at him, too; not openly, of course; Crane wouldn't + tolerate that. What an influence this girl had over him, to be sure! Any + man who had endeavored to sell him a bad horse would have had a hopeless + task; with but a nod of encouragement from Allis he would have bought + every horse—all the useless crooks they had; the stable was full of + them, Lauzanne among the rest. + </p> + <p> + The influence was dividing his nature into a dual one; starting into life + infantile thoughts of a generous morality; an unrest of great vigor was + coming to him, retribution; possibly the power to feel the difference + between an avariciousness, fathering dishonesty, and this new recognition + of other rights. + </p> + <p> + On his arrival in New York he sent for his trainer. + </p> + <p> + “I bought a horse at Ringwood. I want you to look after him, Langdon,” he + said. “Their man, Gaynor, will send him direct to your stables.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer's face brightened. “Did you get Lucretia after all?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I bought a big black, Diablo.” + </p> + <p> + The look of delight faded from Langdon's eyes quickly. “The devil!” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I said; that's his name.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's the most uncertain brute that ever wore a set of plates. You'll + get no good of him, sir; he's bad, clean through. It's come down to him + from his second sire, Robert the Devil, without a bit of the good, either. + He'd break a man that would follow him.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't break me,” answered Crane, quietly; “nor you, either, Langdon—you've + got too much sense.” + </p> + <p> + This subtle tribute mollified the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + Crane proceeded: “I remember the horse quite well. Four thousand was paid + for him as a yearling; as a two-year-old he was tried out good enough to + win the Futurity; but when it came to racing he cut it and finished in the + ruck.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” commented Langdon. “He owes me a good bit, that same + Johnny; his people thought him a lead-pipe cinch, and I went down the line + on him to my sorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. You know him as well as I do. It's a great way to get acquainted + with them, isn't it, Langdon; put your money on, and have the good thing + go down?” + </p> + <p> + Langdon had the highest possible opinion of his master's astuteness and + began to waver in his antipathy to Diablo. + </p> + <p> + “You think he's really good, then, sir; did he show you a fast trial?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't even see the horse,” Crane answered, looking dreamily out of the + window. “I bought him to—” + </p> + <p> + He paused in reflection; he couldn't tell Langdon why he had bought him, + and he hardly cared to have his prestige with the Trainer destroyed. He + continued, shifting the subject—matter a trifle, “You did John + Porter up over Lauzanne last summer, Langdon—” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” questioned 'the Trainer. Was Crane forgetting his share in the + matter? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you!” affirmed the other, looking him steadily in the eye. “You sold + him Lauzanne, and Lauzanne was loaded.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon said nothing. What the devil was coming? + </p> + <p> + “Well,” drawled Crane, “Porter's badly hurt; he's out of the race for some + time to come. They're friends of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “They're friends,” mused Langdon; “who in thunder are they?” + </p> + <p> + “They're friends of mine, and I offered to buy Lauzanne back, just to help + them out; but the old man's daughter has got the Chestnut for a hack, and + she won't sell him. It was Diablo's fault that Porter got the fall, so + they were willing to part with him, and I took the brute.” + </p> + <p> + This was certainly a new role for Crane to play, Langdon thought; his + employer helping people out when they were in difficulties was a + revelation. The Trainer felt inclined to laugh. No doubt there was + something back of it all; some tout must have given Crane information of a + fast gallop Diablo had done, and he had gone to Ringwood to buy the horse, + thinking that Porter would be selling some of his racers owing to the + accident. + </p> + <p> + Langdon tried to remember what Shandy had said about Diablo, or whether + the boy had mentioned his name at all. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what condition he's in?” the Trainer remarked, questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “Physically I think he's all right; it seems he galloped something under + forty miles with Porter before he came a cropper. But I understand they + had an imp of a boy, Sheedy, or 'Shaney'—” + </p> + <p> + “Shandy,” corrected Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the name,” affirmed Crane, drawing a semicircle in the air + with his cigar, “and he's a devil on wheels, by all accounts. Diablo's no + angel, as you've said, Langdon, and this boy made him a heap worse. You've + handled some bad horses in your time, and know more about it than I do; + but I'd suggest that you put Westley—he's a patient lad—to + look after the Black; give him quite a bit of work, and when you've got + him right, try him out with something, and if he shows any form we'll pick + out a soft spot for him. Let me see, he's a maiden—fancy that, + buying a four-year-old maiden!” + </p> + <p> + Langdon laughed approvingly. Crane was evidently coming back to his view + of the case. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I've said, he's a maiden, and we'll try and graduate him out of + that class. It will be a great chance for a killing if we can round him + into his early two-year-old form; and you can do it, Langdon, if anybody + on earth can.” + </p> + <p> + “Now I've got him on his reputation,” thought Crane, idly brushing specks + of cigar ash from the front of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I thought,” mused Langdon; “the old man's got a horse after his + own heart. Everybody thinks Diablo's no good, but the boss has found out + something, and is on for the biggest kind of a coup.” + </p> + <p> + “How's The Dutchman coming on?” asked Crane, intimating by the question + that the subject of Diablo bad been closed out, for the present, at least. + </p> + <p> + “Great. He cleans up his four quarts three times a day, and is as big as a + cart horse. I never had a better doer in my hands. If he keeps well, and I + think he will, you have a great chance with him for the Brooklyn Derbv.” + </p> + <p> + “That's encouraging. There are some good horses in it, though, White Moth + and others. However, I'll back The Dutchman to win fifty thousand, and + there'll be ten thousand in that for you, Langdon, if it comes off.” The + Trainer's mouth watered. Money was his god. Horses were all right as a + means to an end, but the end itself was gold. He would stop at nothing to + attain that end; his avaricious mind, stimulated by Crane's promise, came + at once to the disturbing element in the pleasant prospect, Shandy's + report of Lucretia's good form. + </p> + <p> + “Did you find out anything about Porter's mare Lucretia? I know White + Moth's form; both fit and well. The Dutchman holds him safe over the Derby + journey.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I didn't hear anything about Porter's mare.” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” said Langdon, decisively. “I paid a boy to keep an eye on her, + and he says she'll be hard to beat.” + </p> + <p> + Crane frowned. “What boy?” he asked, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Shandy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, just drop that; chuck that game. John Porter has his own troubles. + If he can win, let him. He can't if The Dutchman keeps well; but anyway, + our own horses will keep us fully occupied.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon was dumbfounded. If Crane had opened the Bible and read a chapter + from St. Luke he would not have been more astonished. It had occurred to + him that he had done a remarkably smart thing; he had expected + commendation for his adroitness in looking after his master's interests. + This disapprobation of such a trivial matter as the touting off of an + opponent's horses was another new discovery in his master's character. + Where were they at, anyway? Presently Crane would be asking him to give + the public a fair run for their money each time out. + </p> + <p> + All at once a light dawned upon Langdon. Crane was doubling on him. He saw + it like a flash. His employer had a tout on the ground himself; that was + how he had got next some good performance of Diablo's. My, but it was + clever; he could appreciate it. Crane rose in his estimation again. + </p> + <p> + Quite humbly he answered: “Very, well; it's not my funeral; I'll bring The + Dutchman to the post fit to run the race of his life. If Lucretia beats + him it won't be my fault. I thought perhaps you might want to hedge a bit + on Porter's mare.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it. I'll stand The Dutchman; there are too many in to start + backing them all. Let me know if the Black gives you any encouragement, + and I'll see about placing him.” + </p> + <p> + After Langdon had gone Crane lighted a fresh cigar and let his thoughts + circle about Allis and Diablo. It would be just like the play of Fate for + the horse to turn out good, now that John Porter had got rid of him. When + evil fortune set its hard face against a man he could do little toward + making the wicked god smile, and Porter, even when he was about, was a + poor hand at compelling success. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + . . . . . . . . . . +</pre> + <p> + Jakey Faust learned of Diablo's transition from Porter's to Langdon's + stable. This information caused him little interest at first; indeed, he + marveled somewhat at two such clever men as Crane and Langdon acquiring a + horse of Diablo's caliber. + </p> + <p> + Faust's business relationship with Crane was to a certain degree + tentative. Crane never confided utterly in anybody; if agents obeyed his + behests, well and good; and each transaction was always completed in + itself. He had discovered Faust and used him when it suited his purpose. + </p> + <p> + Some time after the purchase of Diablo, Jakey, reading his Morning + Telegraph, came with much interest upon the entries for the Brooklyn + Handicap, published that day. They were all the old campaigning Handicap + horses, as familiar to Faust as his fellow members of the betting ring. As + his eye ran down the long list a sudden little pig grunt of surprise + bubbled up through his fat throat. “Gee, Diablo! Oh, ho, Mr. Crane!” + </p> + <p> + He tore out the list and put it in his pocket; then he sat for a time, + thinking. The result was a run down to Gravesend to pay just a friendly + visit to Langdon. + </p> + <p> + As far as Crane was concerned, the Trainer and the Bookmaker were like two + burglars suddenly coming upon each other while robbing the same house; + they were somewhat in a condition of armed neutrality, toward each other. + </p> + <p> + Faust hoped that Langdon would talk about Diablo; but the Trainer was like + most of his guild generally, a close-mouthed man, so Jakey had to make his + own running. + </p> + <p> + “What's the boss goin' to do with Diablo?” he asked Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “Must 've bought him for a work horse, I guess,” the Trainer answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is he any good?” + </p> + <p> + “He can eat; that's all I see from him yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he buy him for?” + </p> + <p> + “To help a snoozer that was sittin' in bad luck.” + </p> + <p> + Faust had an odd habit of causing his fat sides to ripple like troubled + water when he wished to convey the impression that he was amused; he never + laughed, just the rib ripple. + </p> + <p> + “What's funny?” Langdon asked, eying Jakey, with querulous disfavor. + </p> + <p> + “Crane buying a horse to help a man,” answered the Cherub, wondering if + Langdon was so devoid of humor as to take it seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Crane told me so himself,” said the Trainer; “Porter's hurt, an' I guess + they're in a hole, an' the boss took over Diablo.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, Dick,” and Faust edged close enough to tap the other man's ribs with + his thumb, “were you born yesterday? I say,” continued the Cherub, for + Langdon had turned away somewhat impatiently, “what's the good av givin' + me that gup; you didn't stand for it yourself—not on yer life. Th' + old man's pretty slick; buys a bad horse to help a poor mutt, an' enters + him in the Brooklyn, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “The Brooklyn!” exclaimed Langdon, thrown off his guard. + </p> + <p> + With corpulent intensity the Cherub melodramatically drew from his pocket + the Telegraph clipping and tendered it to Langdon, watching the latter's + face closely. “That's the pea, Dick, eh?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Langdon was thinking. Was Crane doubling on him all around? Why the devil + hadn't he told him? + </p> + <p> + “Now you ain't takin' in that fairy tale of Crane's any more'n I am, Dick. + Why can't we do a bit for ourselves over this; it won't hurt the boss + none. Won't throw him down. This horse was a good youngster, an' Crane + didn't get him without seein' him do somethin'. You jest keep me posted, + an' if he shapes good I can back 'm fer an old-time killin', see? I'll + divvy up straight.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon didn't answer at once—not with satisfaction to Faust; he + knew that Crane held the butter for his bread, even the bread itself; but + here was a man with cake, and he loved cake. Finally, in the glamour of + Jakey's talk of untold wealth to be acquired, Langdon, swayed by the + cupidity of his nature rather than his better judgment, promised + half-heartedly to cooperate with Faust. + </p> + <p> + But no sooner had the latter gone than the lode-star of Langdon's + self-interest flickered clearly in view, and he promised Mr. Jakey, + mentally, a long trip to a very hot place, indeed, rather than a + surreptitious partnership over Diablo. + </p> + <p> + It was some little time after this, while Faust was feeling somewhat + irritated at the absence of information from Langdon, that he had an + interview with Crane. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to back The Dutchman to win fifty thousand for me over the + Brooklyn Derby,” the latter said. + </p> + <p> + “But there's no winner book on it,” objected Faust. + </p> + <p> + “That's just where your cleverness will come in,” suavely answered Crane. + “There's no hurry, and there are always people looking for foolish money. + There's one such in Chicago, O'Leary; and I fancy they could even be found + in New York. But you ought to get fifty to one, about it, if you put it on + easy.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you have Diablo entered for the Brooklyn,” Faust put out as a + feeler. “Don't you want a commission worked on him?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't enter him; that was somebody else's foolishness, and I don't + want to back him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a hundred to one.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand would be short odds, I should say,” answered Crane. “But wait + a bit. I bought him just to—well, I took him from some people who + were tired of his cannibal ways, and promised to have a small bet on him + the first time he ran, for—for the man.” The equivocation was really + a touch of delicacy. “You might take the odds to fifty for me; there's not + one chance in a million of his starting, but I might forget all about this + little matter of the bet, even if I were foolish enough to pay post-money + on him.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't I better dribble on more from time to time, if he has a chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Not of my money, thanks!” The “thanks” clipped like a steel trap, and the + business was completed. + </p> + <p> + Faust went away more than ever suspicious of Crane and Diablo. That fifty + dollars being put on for anybody else was bunkum. What was Crane up to + anyway? If he really meant to back the horse he would not have started + with such a trifle. Perhaps Diablo had been stuck in the Brooklyn simply + to see how the handicapper would rate him. + </p> + <p> + Faust was convinced that Crane had some big coup in view; he would wait a + little, and at the first move have a strong play himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX + </h2> + <p> + Langdon was a consummate trainer, a student of horse character. He knew + that while biniodide of mercury would blister and put right a bowed + tendon, or the firing iron take the life out of a splint, that a much + finer knowledge than this was requisite to get fullhearted work out of a + thoroughbred. Brain must be pitted against brain; so he studied his + horses; and when Diablo came into his hands, possessed of a mind disease, + he worked over him with considerable intelligent patience. + </p> + <p> + This study of horse character was the very thing that had caused him to go + wrong over Lauzanne. He had not gone quite far enough; had not waited for + time to demonstrate clearly the horse's temperament, but had recourse to a + cocaine stimulant. But with him Lauzanne's case had been exceptional. + </p> + <p> + At first there was little encouragement over Diablo, but almost by + accident Langdon discovered that the Black's bad temper was always fanned + into a blaze by the sight of the boy Shandy. + </p> + <p> + Then came a glint of hope. Diablo took a fancy to Westley, the jockey, who + was experimentally put on his back in the working gallop. After that + Shandy was kept out of the way; Westley took Diablo under his care, and + the big horse began to show a surprising improvement. + </p> + <p> + Crane had been quite honest in his statement that he thought Diablo a bad + horse. His having been entered by Porter in the “Brooklyn” suggested the + possiability that his former owner must have seen some merit in the horse. + At any rate, he advised Langdon to give Diablo a patient trial. He really + had very little idea that the horse would start in the Handicap—it + seemed improbable. Langdon was also convinced that Porter had discovered + something great in Diablo; that Crane knew this, and had paid a stiff + price for the horse, and to his own ends was keeping it dark. + </p> + <p> + As the winter turned into April he intimated to Crane that it was time for + them to decide the placing of the horses, and suggested that they try them + out. Crane had already decided to race The Dutchman this year in his own + name and not in Langdon's. If The Dutchman came up to expectation they + could give him a slow preparation up to Derby time; they could find out + whether Diablo was worth keeping for—well, for Morris Park or + Gravesend, or they could hurry him on a little, and start him at Aqueduct. + </p> + <p> + Crane agreed with this reasoning, and it was decided to give the two + horses a home trial. + </p> + <p> + On the day that Langdon had said he would try Diablo and The Dutchman, + Crane went down to Gravesend. When he got to the Trainer's house he found + the latter waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + “I sent the horses over with the boys,” Langdon said; “if you'll just wait + a minute, I'll have a buggy hitched up and we'll drive over.” + </p> + <p> + A stable-boy brought the trap to the door in a few minutes, and Langdon, + telling Crane to get in, disappeared into the house, returning presently + with two saddles, which he placed in the buggy. + </p> + <p> + “A couple of favorite saddles of mine,” he explained, “they're like old + fiddles that great players carry about under their arms an' sleep with, + an' never let no one but themselves touch.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you that particular with these?” asked Crane by way of conversation, + not feeling at all interested in what he considered a fad of the + Trainer's. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I mostly handle 'em myself. They cost a bit. I had 'em made to + order. The boys is that careless, they'd smash anything.” + </p> + <p> + As they jogged along, Langdon kept up a monologue dissertation on the + merits of the two horses. “It's a good day for a gallop,” and he flicked + the driving beast's quarter with the whip; “there's not much wind, an' the + air's a bit sharp. They'll be on their mettle, the both of 'em, more + 'specially Diablo. I had his plates changed. 'Pears to me he hadn't been + shod in three moons; I'll bet the smith took an inch off his toes.” Then + he broke off to chuckle awhile. + </p> + <p> + Crane was not skilled in the anatomy of a horse, beyond as it worked out + in winning races and money. That a horse had toes had never quite come + into his knowledge, and Langdon's gurgle of mirth he put down to a + suspicion that the Trainer was taking a rise out of him in what he had + said. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of Paddy Caramagh when he shod Diablo the other day. I + think you've heard Pat swear. He holds the belt for cussin' in this part + of the country. Well, he let it all out of him before he'd finished with + the Black. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I can hear him still, with the sweat running + off his face like oats spilling from a feed bag. I says to Paddy, 'Rub his + nose a bit,' for I could see it was more nervousness with the horse than + sheer deviltry. 'With what?' says Paddy, 'the hammer? Be gor! You're + right, though,' says he, and with that he tries to put a twister on + Diablo's nose. Holy mother! Diablo reached for him, and lifted the shirt + clean off his back. Say, there was a scared Irishman, if you ever saw one + in your life. He threw down the plate, cussin' as only Paddy can, and + swore the brute could run till he'd wore his hoofs off, for all of him. + Well, I takes hold of the Black's head, an' kids him a bit, only + firm-like, and we shod him right enough.” + </p> + <p> + “He is bad tempered, then?” asked Crane. + </p> + <p> + “No; just wants a fair deal; that's all. You make him believe you're on + the square, an' he'll do what's right. But he hasn't got no use for any of + the guys that gets a cranky play in on him; he won't stand it. I'm going + to put Westley up on him to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “What about The Dutchman?” + </p> + <p> + “Colley'll do. Any kid can ride him, if they sit still. He's just the + easiest-tempered horse ever looked through a bridle; he knows what's doin' + all the time. But Colley ain't no good on Diablo, an' if he can smell + Shandy, that settles it—it's all over. I'll put Westley up; it takes + a man to ride that horse.” + </p> + <p> + “What about this gallop?” asked Crane; “there'll be spies about trying to + find out things, won't there?” + </p> + <p> + “Bet yer life, there'll be somebody, sir. It's just like when I was out in + Colorado; you couldn't see a vulture if you traveled forty days, perhaps, + but plant a dead thing anywhere and in an hour the sky simply rained 'em + down. These touts is most like vultures of anything I know; you've just + got to work your stunt to give 'em the go-by, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Crane took but an apathetic interest in the matters that held full sway + over the Trainer's mind; looking after these incidents was Langdon's part + of the contract. + </p> + <p> + That was why they were so strong together. Langdon could do it. Just how + the trial was to benefit them alone, with the inevitable tout at hand, + Crane knew not, neither did he investigate; that was up to the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + They drove into the paddock. Westley, Colley, and the two stable lads were + there. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we bring out the horses?” asked Westley, as Langdon sat swinging a + leg loosely over the end of the buggy seat. + </p> + <p> + “Any of the talent about, Bill?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite likely, though I haven't seen none.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll slip 'em now. Just saddle up careless like, and no + preliminary, mind you. The sharks won't look for a brush till you've gone + around once. Take your mounts down the stretch to the quarter post, an' + then come away the first break; if there's anyone toutin' you off, they'll + think it just a pipe opener, an' won't catch the time. Run out the + mile-an'-a-quarter, make a race of it, but don't go to the bat. Diablo an' + The Dutchman don't need no whip to give us about the best they've got.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir,” answered Westley. “If I'm a judge, when the Black's + through pullin', he's done racin', 'cause he's a keen one, so there won't + be no call to put the bud to him. If any of the rail birds is lookin' + they'll think we're goin' under a strong wrap, even when we're all out.” + </p> + <p> + Lang don nodded his head. He was a man not given to exuberant + appreciation. The boys averred that when Dick Langdon didn't curse at them + they had done pretty well, indeed. + </p> + <p> + “What's your weight?” he asked of Westley, abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “I've just tipped the scales at a hundred-and-three in my sweater.” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and three,” mused the Trainer, making a mental calculation. + “What's Colley's weight?” + </p> + <p> + “He's as near a hundred as you can make it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you bring over a saddle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; two of 'em; one apiece for the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Colley to take one, and some leads, and weigh out a hundred and + twelve. That'll be three pounds above the scale for May, weight for age, + for the three-year-old, The Dutchman. I guess he won't need more'n seven + pounds dead weight, for it's a five-pound saddle, I think. Let me see, you + said a hundred and three, you were.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; in the sweater; I can take that off—” + </p> + <p> + “No; never mind. Take this saddle,” and he lifted one from the buggy; + “it'll just suit Diablo; he's got a herring-bone of a wither, an' this is + high in the tree, an' won't cut him. Here's the cloth an' some leads; + weigh out a hundred and twelve too. Weight for age—Diablo's a + four-year-old; you ought to carry a hundred and twenty-six, but he's not + The Dutchman's class, an' the ycungster'd lose him before they'd gone half + the journey. We'll run 'em at level weights, an' he'll get closer to The + Dutchman, an' the sharks won't have such a fairy tale to tell about our + horse.” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred and twelve, you said, sir?” queried Westley, as he put the + saddle that Langdon handed him over his left arm, slipped the thin sheets + of lead in his pocket, and stood dangling the linen weight cloth in his + right hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; level weights—a hundred an' twelve pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Westley,” the Trainer called as the little man started off, “just bring + the saddle back to me here when you've weighed. I'll put it on Diablo + myself; he's a touchy cuss, and I don't want him ruffled by careless + handlin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You take considerable trouble over it,” remarked Crane. “One would think + it was a big handicap you meant to capture this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon started visibly. Was Crane thinking of the Brooklyn? Did this + quiet, clever man sitting at his elbow already know as much as he hoped to + discover in his present gallop? + </p> + <p> + He answered: “Handicaps is usually won pretty much like this; they're + generally settled before the horse goes to the post for the trip itself. + When he goes through the paddock gate the day of the big race he's out of + his trainer's hands; the man's got no more to do with the race himself + than a kid sittin' up in the grand stand. Here's where I come in, if we + mean to land the Brooklyn,” and he looked searchingly at Crane, a + misleading grin on his lips. But the latter simply joined in the laugh, + doubtingly, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “A hundred and twelve, neat,” declared Westley, as he returned, throwing + some loose leads into the buggy. “Colley's gone to saddle The Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” answered Langdon, getting down from the seat and taking the + saddle. “Go and tell the boy to bring Diablo out of the stall. I'll saddle + him in the open. He generally kicks the boards when I cinch him up, an' it + puts him in a bad humor.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon started off with the jockey, but turned back, saying, “Oh, Mr. + Crane, I wanted to ask you—” + </p> + <p> + By this he had reached the buggy, while Westley continued on his way to + the stalls. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fine day, sir,” continued Langdon, finishing his sentence, and + exchanging the saddle held in his hand for the one that was in the buggy. + </p> + <p> + “Going to put the other on?” asked Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I fancy Diablo will like this better. Touchy brutes, these race + horses; got to humor 'em. Come on over to the stalls—the horse'll + stand.” + </p> + <p> + Diablo was being led around in a small circle by his boy. He was a + magnificent creature, sixteen and a half hands high, and built on the same + grand scale; perhaps a bit leggy for the huge barrel that topped the + limbs; that was what caused him to go wrong in his younger days. His black + skin glistened in the noonday sun. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I call the mirror of health,” said Langdon, in an unwonted + burst of poetic eloquence, as he passed his hand across the horse's ribs. + Then feeling that somehow he had laid himself open to a suspicion of + gentleness, added, “He's a hell of a fine looker; if he could gallop up to + his looks he'd make some of the cracks take a back seat.” + </p> + <p> + Even Diablo had resented either the mellifluous comparison or the rub of + Langdon's hand, for he lashed out furiously, with a great farreaching leg + that nearly caught Crane unawares. + </p> + <p> + “Your polite language seems to be as irritating to him as the blacksmith's + oaths,” ejaculated Crane, as he came back from the hasty retreat he had + beaten. + </p> + <p> + “It's only play. Good horses is of two kinds when you're saddlin' 'em. The + Dutchman there'll hang his head down, and champ at the bit, even if you + bury the girt' an inch deep in his belly; he's honest, and knows it's all + needed. That's one kind; and they're generally the same at the post, + always there or thereabouts, waitin' for the word 'go.' An' they race + pretty much the same all the time. If you time 'em a mile in 1:40 at home, + they'll do it when the colors is up, an' the silk a-flappin' all about 'em + in the race. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa! Hold still, you brute! Steady, steady! Whoa!” This to Diablo, for + while talking he had adjusted the weight cloth with the gentleness of a + cavalier putting a silk wrap about his lady love's neck, and had put a + fold of soft woolen cloth over the high-boned wither. + </p> + <p> + “Stand out in front of him and hold his head down a bit;” this to the boy. + Then as he slipped the saddle into place and reached underneath for the + girths, he continued his address to Crane on the peculiarity of racers. + </p> + <p> + “Now this is a horse of another color, this one; he ain't takin' things + easy at no stage of the game. He objects to everything, an' some day + that'll land him a winner, see? He'll get it into his head that the other + horses want to beat him out, an' he'll show 'em a clean pair of heels; + come home on the bit, pullin' double. Whoa, boy! Steady, steady, old man!” + Then he ceased talking, for he had taken the girth strap between his + teeth, and was cinching up the big Black with the firm pull of a grizzly. + Diablo squirmed under the torture of the tightening web on his sensitive + skin, and crouched as though he would fall on the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir;” continued Langdon, as he ran the stirrups up under the saddle + flap out of the way, and motioned to the boy to lead Diablo about. “Yes, + sir; this fellow's different. He's too damn sensitive. At the post he's + like as not to act like a locoed broncho, an' get one blamed for having + 'juiced' him, but he don't need no dope; what he needs is steadying. If he + gets away in front, them long legs of his will take some catchin'. He's + the kind that wins when the books are layin' a hundred to one against him. + But the worst of it is with his sort, like as not the owner hasn't a penny + on them; but the public'll howl; they'll call it in-an'-out runnin'; an' + the scribblers'll get their paper to print a notice that the stable ought + to be ruled off; an' all the time you're breakin' your heart trying to get + him to give his true—Hello! there's Colley out on The Dutchman; + mount your horse, Westley—wait, you don't need no spurs; yes, carry + a whip, an' give the guys that is watchin' a stage play with it; but don't + hit the Black. We'll just see what he'll do himself, this trip,” he added, + addressing Crane. + </p> + <p> + Taking Westley's small-booted foot in his hand, he lifted the lad to + Diablo's back, and led the horse out through a gate to the course. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX + </h2> + <p> + The two boys cantered their mounts down to the quarter post carelessly, as + though they were going around to the far side. + </p> + <p> + “Look at 'em!” cried the Trainer; “isn't he a little gentleman?” + </p> + <p> + To the uninitiated this might have been taken as a tribute to one of the + boys, Westley, perhaps; but the Trainer was not even thinking of them. + They were of no moment. It was the wine-red bay, The Dutchman, cantering + with gentle, lazy grace, that had drawn forth this encomium. His head, + somewhat high carried, was held straight and true in front, and his big + eyes searched the course with gentle inquisitiveness, for others of his + kind, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “He's a lovely horse,” commented Crane, knowing quite well to what Langdon + referred. + </p> + <p> + “He's all that, but just look at the other devil.” + </p> + <p> + Diablo was throwing his nose fretfully up and down, up and down; grabbing + at the bit; pirouetting from one side the course to the other; nearly + pulling Westley over his neck one minute, as with lowered head he sought + to break away, and the next dashing forward for a few yards with it stuck + foolishly high, like a badmouthed Indian cayuse. + </p> + <p> + “But Westley'll manage him,” Langdon confided to Crane, after a period of + silent observation; “he'll get his belly full of runnin' when he's gone a + mile and a quarter with The Dutchman. Gad! that was neat; here they come;” + for the two boys had whirled with sudden skill at the quarter post, and + broke away, with Diablo slightly in the lead. “My God! he can move,” + muttered Langdon, abstractedly, and quite to himself. The man at his side + had floated into oblivion. He saw only a great striding black horse coming + wide-mouthed up the stretch. At the Black's heels, with dogged lope, hung + the Bay. + </p> + <p> + “Take him back, take him back, Westley!” yelled Langdon, leaning far out + over the rail, as the horses raced by, Diablo well in front. + </p> + <p> + The Trainer's admonition seemed like a cry to a cyclone, as void of + usefulness. What power could the tiny dot lying close hugged far up on the + straining black neck have over the galloping fiend? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the way,” Langdon said, nodding his head to Crane, and + jerking a thumb out toward the first turn in the course, where the two + horses were hugging close to the rail; “that's the way he's worked here.” + </p> + <p> + “Which one?” asked his companion. + </p> + <p> + “The Black, an' if he ever does that in a race—God help the others—they'll + never catch him; they'll never catch him; they'll never catch him,” he + kept repeating, dwelling lovingly on the thought, as he saw the + confirmation of it being enacted before his eyes; for across the new green + of the grass-sprouted course he could see two open lengths of daylight + between Diablo and The Dutchman. + </p> + <p> + “Fifty-one and a half for the half-mile,” he imparted to Crane, looking at + his watch. “Now The Dutchman is moving up; Colley doesn't mean to get left + if he can help it. I'm afraid Diablo'll shut up when he's pinched; his + kind are apt to do that. The Dutchman is game, an' if he ever gets to the + Black's throat-latch he'll chuck it. But it takes some ridin'; it takes + some ridin', sir.” He was becoming enthusiastic, exuberant. The silent man + at his side noticed the childish repetition with inward amusement. He had + thought that Langdon would have been overjoyed to see the bay horse + smother his opponent. Was not the Trainer to have ten thousand dollars if + The Dutchman won the Handicap? But here he was pinning his satisfaction to + the good showing of Diablo. He didn't know of the compact between Langdon + and the Bookmaker Faust, but he strongly suspected from the Trainer's + demeanor that the gallop he was witnessing foretold some big coup the + latter scented. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't got him yet, he hasn't got him yet!” cried Langdon, joyfully, + as the horses swung around the bottom turn, closer locked, but with Diablo + still a short length in the lead. + </p> + <p> + Crane saw no great cause for exhilaration. The Dutchman was certainly + giving the Black twenty pounds the best of it in the weights, for one was + a three-year-old while the other was four, and they each carried a hundred + and twelve. + </p> + <p> + “The mile in 1:42,” chirped Langdon. “That's movin', if you like, + considerin' the track, the condition of the horses, an' that they're + runnin' under a double wrap. Now we'll see a ding-dong finish, if the + Black doesn't show a streak of yellow. Dutchy's got him,” he added, as + through his glasses he saw them swing into the straight, neck and neck. + </p> + <p> + “Clever Mr. Westlev!” for Diablo's rider, having the rail and the lead, + had bored out slightly on the turn, so as not to cramp the uncertain horse + he rode, and carried The Dutchman wide. + </p> + <p> + Up the straight they came, the boys helping their mounts with leg and arm; + the Black holding his own with a dogged persistence that quite upset + Langdon's prognostication of cowardice. + </p> + <p> + To the watchers it was as exciting as a stake race. The stamina that + Langdon had said would stand The Dutchman in good stead over the mile and + a half Handicap course now showed itself. First he was level with the + Black, then gradually, stride by stride, he drew away from Diablo, and + finished a short length in front. + </p> + <p> + “A great trial,” cried the Trainer, gleefully, holding out his watch for + Crane's inspection. “See that!” pointing to the hand he had stopped as the + Bay's brown nozzle flashed by the post; “two-nine on this course! Anything + that beats that pair, fit and well, a mile and a quarter on a fast + track'll have to make it in two-five, an' that's the record.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks good business for the Derby, Langdon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does. That's the first showing I've had from the colt as a + three-year-old; but I knew he had it in him. Hanover was a great horse—to + my mind we never had his equal in America—but this youngster'll be + as good as his daddy ever was. I don't think you ought to start him, sir, + till the Derby, if you're set on winnin' it.” + </p> + <p> + He had moved up to the gate as he talked, and now opened it, waiting for + the boys to come back. They had eased down the horses gradually after the + fierce gallop, turned them about and were trotting toward the paddock, + where stood the two men. Langdon took Diablo by the bridle rein and led + him in toward the stalls. + </p> + <p> + “How did he shape under you, Westley?” he asked, as the boy slipped from + the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't ask to ride a better horse. I thought I had the colt beaten, + sure; but my mount seemed to tire a little at the finish. He didn't toss + it up, not a bit of it; ran as game as a pebble; he just tired at the + finish. I think a mile is his journey. He held The Dutchman safe at a + mile.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you're right, Westley; a mile's his limit. At level weights with + the three-year-old, which means that he had twenty pounds the best of it, + he should have held his own the whole route to be a stayer, for the colt + isn't more'n half ready yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't hustle him none too much, sir; I might a-squeezed a bit more out + of him. Did we make fair time?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite a feeler, Mister Jockey,” thought Langdon to himself; “it's news + you want, eh?” Then he answered aloud, with a diplomacy born of many years + of turf tuition: “Fairish sort of time; it might have been better, perhaps—a + shade under two-twelve. I thought they might have bettered that a couple + of seconds. But they'll come on—they'll come on, both of them. If + anybody asks you, Westley, The Dutchman was beaten off, see? I don't like + to discourage the clever owners that has good 'uns in the Derby” Then he + added as a sort of after thought, and with wondrous carelessness: + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter about the Black, you know; he's only a sellin' plater, + so it doesn't matter. But all the same, Westley, when we find a soft spot + for him, an over-night sellin' purse or somethin, you'll have the leg up, + with a bet down for you at a long price, see?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand, sir.” + </p> + <p> + By the time Langdon had slipped the saddle from Diablo's back the boy had + thrown a hooded blanket over him, and he was led away. “Send them home, + Westley. Now, Mr. Crane, we'll drive back to the house an' have a bit of + lunch.” + </p> + <p> + As they drove along Crane brought up the subject of the trial. + </p> + <p> + “The colt must be extra good, Langdon, or the Black is—well, as he + was represented to be, not much account.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Diablo's about good enough to win a big handicap, if he happened + to be in one at a light weight.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't win to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “He came pretty near it.” + </p> + <p> + “But where would he have been carrying his proper weight?” + </p> + <p> + “About where he was, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “You said as a four-year-old he should have had up a hundred and + twenty-six, and he carried a hundred and twelve; and, besides, had the + best boy by seven pounds on his back.” + </p> + <p> + “Just pass me that saddle, Mr. Crane,” said Langdon, by way of answer. + “No; not that—the one I took off Diablo.” + </p> + <p> + Crane reached down his hand, but the saddle didn't come quite as freely as + it should have. “What's it caught in?” he asked, fretfully. + </p> + <p> + “In itself, I reckon—lift it.” “Gad! it's heavy. Did Diablo carry + that? What's in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Lead-built into it; it's my old fiddle, you know. You're the first man + that's had his hand on that saddle for some time, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Diablo did carry his full weight,” commented Crane, a light breaking + in upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Just about, and carried it like a stake horse, too.” + </p> + <p> + “And you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I changed the saddles after Westley weighed. He's a good boy, and + don't shoot off his mouth much, but all the same things will out while + ridin' boys have the power of speech.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks as though Diablo had something in him,” said Crane, + meditatively. + </p> + <p> + “He's got the Brooklyn in him. Fancy The Dutchman in at seventy pounds; + that's what it comes to. Diablo's got ninety to carry, an' he gave the + other twenty pounds to-day. You've got the greatest thing on earth right + in your hands now—” + </p> + <p> + Langdon hesitated for a minute, and then added: “But I guess you knew this + all before, or you wouldn't have sent him here.” + </p> + <p> + “I bought him for a bad horse,” answered Crane, quietly; “but if he turns + out well, that's so much to the good. But it's a bit of luck Porter's not + having declared him out to save nearly a hundred. He seems to have raced + pretty loose.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if he thinks I'm taking in that fairy tale?” thought Langdon. + Aloud, he said: “But you'll back him now, sir, won't you? He must be a + long price in the winter books.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'll arrange that,” answered the other, “and I'll take care of you, + too. I suppose Westley will take the mount?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can just give him to understand that he'll be looked after if + the horse wins.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Brooklyn, sir, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Seems like it.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't say anything about the race to Westley, though.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll leave all that to you. I'll attend to getting the money on; you do + the rest.” + </p> + <p> + When Crane had gone, Langdon paid further mental tribute to his master's + astuteness. “Now I see it all,” he muttered; “the old man just thought to + keep me quiet; throw me of the scent till he duplicated the other trial, + whenever they pulled it off. Now he's got a sure line on the Black, an' + he'll make such a killin' that the books'll remember him for many a day. + But why does he keep throwin' that fairy tale into me about buyin' a bad + horse to oblige somebody? A man would be a sucker to believe that of + Crane; he's not the sort. But one sure thing, he said he'd look after me, + an' he will. He'd break a man quick enough, but when he gives his word it + stands. Mr. Jakey Faust can look after himself: I'm not goin' to take + chances of losin' a big stable of bread-winners by doublin' on the Boss.” + </p> + <p> + Langdon's mental analysis of Crane's motives was the outcome of + considerable experience. The Banker's past life was not compatible with + generous dealing. His act of buying Diablo had been prompted by newborn + feelings of regard for the Porters, chiefly Allis; but no man, much less + Langdon, would have given him credit for other than the most selfish + motives. + </p> + <p> + True to his resolve, Langdon utterly refused to share his confidences with + Jakey Faust. + </p> + <p> + “We've tried the horses,” he said, “and the Dutchman won, but Crane knows + more about the whole business than I do. You go to him, Jake, or wait till + he sends for you, an' you'll find out all about it. My game's to run + straight with one man, anyway, an' I'm goin' to do it.” + </p> + <p> + That was all Faust could learn. When an occasion offered he slipped a + ten-dollar note into Shandy's hand, for he knew the lad was full open to a + bribe, but Shandy knew no more than did the Bookmaker. The Dutchman, had + won the trial from the Black quite easily, was the extent of his + knowledge. As to Diablo himself, Shandy gave him a very bad character + indeed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI + </h2> + <p> + Faust was in a quandary. First Crane had confided in him over Diablo, but + now his silence seemed to indicate that he meant to have this good thing + all to himself. + </p> + <p> + Then Langdon had promised to cooperate, now he, too, had closed up like a + clam; he was as mute as an oyster. + </p> + <p> + “Crane is dealin' the cards all the time,” thought Faust; “but there's + some game on, sure.” + </p> + <p> + He determined to back Diablo for himself at the long odds, and chance it. + </p> + <p> + Two days later Crane received a very illiterate epistle, evidently from a + stable-boy; it was unsigned: + </p> + <p> + “DERE Boss, Yous is gittin it in the neck. de big blak hors he didn't + carre the sadel you think the blak hors had on his bak. Yous got de duble + cros that time. Der bokie hes axin me wot de blak is good fer der bokie is + playin fer to trow yous downe. + </p> + <p> + “No moar at presen.” + </p> + <p> + This was the wholly ambiguous communication that Crane had found under his + door. There was no stamp, neither place nor date written in the letter; + nothing but an evident warning from some one, who, no doubt, hoped to get + into his good graces by putting him on his guard. + </p> + <p> + As it happened, Crane had just made up his mind to make his plunge on + Diablo while the odds were long enough to make it possible with the outlay + of very little capital. He smoked a heavy Manuel Garcia over this new + contingency. It did not matter about the saddles. Langdon had confided in + him fully. But how had the writer of the ill-spelled missive known of that + matter? + </p> + <p> + Yes, he had better make his bet before these whisperings came to other + ears. + </p> + <p> + But the bookmaker mentioned? That must be Faust. Why was he prowling about + among stable lads? + </p> + <p> + He sent for Faust. When the latter had come, Crane asked Diablo's price + for the Brooklyn. + </p> + <p> + “It's thirty to one now,” replied the Bookmaker; “somebody's backin' him.” + </p> + <p> + Faust's small baby eyes were fixed furtively on Crane's pale, sallow face, + as he imparted this information; but he might as well have studied the + ingrain paper on the wall; its unfigured surface was not more placid, more + devoid of indication, than the smooth countenance he was searching. + </p> + <p> + Crane remained tantalizingly silent for a full minute; evidently his + thoughts had drifted away to some other subject. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Faust, speaking again to break the trying quiet, “some one's + nibblin' at Diablo in the books. I wonder if it's Porter; did he think him + a good horse?” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be Porter, nor any one else who knows Diablo. It's some foolish + outsider, tempted by the long odds. I suppose, however, it doesn't matter; + in fact, it's all the better. You took that five thousand to fifty for me, + didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, just lay it off. You can do so now at a profit.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't want to back Diablo, then? Shall I lay against him further?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like—in your own book. I don't want to have anything to do + with him, one way or the other. I always thought he was a bad horse, and—and—well, + never mind, just lay that bet off. I shall probably want to back The + Dutchman again shortly.” + </p> + <p> + When Faust had gone, Crane opened the little drawer which held his betting + book, took it out, and drew a pencil through the entry he had made + opposite Allis's name. + </p> + <p> + “That's off for a few days, thanks to Mr. Faust,” he thought. Then he ran + his eye back over several other entries. “Ah, that's the man—Hummel; + he'll do.” + </p> + <p> + Next he consulted his telephone book; tracing his finger down the “H” + column he came to “Ike Hummel, commission broker, Madison 71184.” + </p> + <p> + Over the 'phone he made an appointment for the next day at eleven o'clock + with Hummel; and the result of that interview was that Crane backed Diablo + to win him a matter of seventy-five thousand dollars at the liberal odds + of seventy-five to one; for Jakey Faust, feeling that he had made a + mistake in backing the Black, had laid off all his own bets and sent the + horse back in the market to the longer odds. Crane had completely thrown + him of his guard. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had Faust congratulated himself upon having slipped out of his + Diablo bets than he heard that a big commission had been most skillfully + worked on this outsider for the Brooklyn. In his new dilemma he went to + Crane, feeling very much at sea. + </p> + <p> + “They're backin' your horse again, sir,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; heavy.” + </p> + <p> + “If he's worth backing at all I suppose he's worth backing heavily.” + </p> + <p> + This aphorism seemed to merit a new cigar on Crane's part, so he lighted + one. + </p> + <p> + “He's travelin' up and down in the market,” continues Faust. “He dropped + to thirty, then went back to seventy-five; now he's at twenty; I can't + make it out.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't try,” advised Crane, soothingly. “Too much knowledge is even + as great a danger as a lesser amount sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Faust started guiltily and looked with quick inquiry at the speaker, but, + as usual, there was nothing in his presence beyond the words to hang a + conjecture on. + </p> + <p> + “I thought for your sake that I'd better find out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't worry about me; that is, too much, you know. I go down to + Gravesend once in a while myself, and no doubt know all that's doing.” + </p> + <p> + A great fear fell upon Faust. Evidently this was an intimation to him to + keep away from the stables. How did Crane know—who had split on him? + Was it Langdon, or Shandy, or Colley? Some one had evidently aroused + Crane's suspicion, and this man of a great cleverness had put him away + while he worked a big commission through some one else. The thought was + none the less bitter to Faust that it was all his own fault; his + super-cleverness. + </p> + <p> + “An' you don't want me to work a commission for you on Diablo?” he asked, + desperately. + </p> + <p> + “No; I sha'n't bet on him at present. And say, Faust, in future when I + want you to do any betting on my horses, on my account, you know, I'll + tell you. Understand? You needn't worry, that is—other people. I'll + tell you myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean—” Faust had started to try a plausible explanation, + but Crane stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; the matter is closed out now.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir,” persisted Faust, “if you've got your money all on, can I take + a bit now? Is it good business? We've worked together a good deal without + misunderstanding before.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have,” commented Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; an' I'd like to be in on this now. I didn't mean to forestall you.” + </p> + <p> + Crane raised his hand in an attitude of supplication for the other man to + desist, but Faust was not to be stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I made a mistake, an' I'm sorry; an' if you will tell me whether Diablo's + good business for the Brooklyn, I'll back him now at the shorter price. + There's no use of us bein' bad friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I think Diablo's a fairly good bet,” said Crane, quietly, entirely + ignoring the question of friendship. + </p> + <p> + “It won't be poachin' if I have a bet, then?” asked the Cherub, more + solicitous than he had appeared at an earlier stage of the game. + </p> + <p> + “Poachers don't worry me,” remarked Diablo's owner. “I'm my own game + keeper, and they usually get the worst of it. But you go ahead and have + your bet.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, there won't be no more bad breaks made by me; but I didn't + mean to give you none the worst of it. Good day, sir,” and he was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Faust has had his lesson,” thought Crane, as he took from a drawer the + stable-boy's ill-favored note. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder who sent me this scrawl? It gave me a pointer, though. I suppose + the writer will turn up for his reward; but the devil of it is he'll sell + information of this sort to anyone who'll buy. Must weed him out when I've + discovered the imp. At any rate Faust will go straight, now he's been + scorched. I'll just re-enter that bet to the Little Woman while I think of + it. 'Three thousand seven hundred and fifty to fifty, Diablo for the + Brooklyn, laid to Miss Allis Porter.'” Then he dated it. “She loses by + this transaction, but that won't matter; it will be a pretty good win if + it comes off. She may even refuse this, though she shouldn't, for it's a + part of the bargain that I was to have a bet on for her, a small bet, of + course. Yes, yes; I remember, a small bet. But this is a small bet. There + was nothing said about the size of the winnings. She was probably thinking + of gloves. Jingo, she has a lovely hand, I've noticed it; long slim + fingers, even the palm is long; sinewy I'll warrant; nothing pudgy about + that hand. Hey, Crane, you're silly!” he cried, half audibly, taking + himself to task; “doing business in big moneys—a cool seventy-five + thousand, if it materializes, perhaps even more—and then slipping + off into a mooney dream, vaporing about a girl's slim hand. I suppose + that's the love symptom. But at forty! it's hardly my normal condition, I + fancy.” + </p> + <p> + The slim hand beckoned him off into a disjointed reverie. Was he the + better for it? What would the end be? Before the new emotion he could look + back upon his past struggles with sordid satisfaction. Men in battle were + not given to uneasy qualms of compunction, nor questionings as to the + method that had led to victory. His life had been one long-drawn-out + battle; the financial soldiers that had fallen by the wayside because of + his sword play did not interest him; they were dead; being dead, their + memory harrassed him not at all. If there were commercial blood stains + upon his hand, they were hidden by the glove of success. After a manner he + had had peace; now all was disquiet; the turmoil of an awakened gentler + feeling clashing with the polemics of self-satisfying selfishness. And all + because of a girl! To him that was the peculiar feature of the disturbance + in his nature. He, Philip Crane, the strong man of strong men, to be shorn + of his indifference to everything but success by a girl unskilled in + managing anything but a horse. + </p> + <p> + “It's all very fine to argue it out with one's self,” he thought, “but I + simply can't help it.” He was astonished to find that he was pacing up and + down the floor of his apartment. Undoubtedly he was possessed of a + tremendous regard for the girl Allis. But why not put it from him; why not + conquer himself as he had always done? To let it master him meant the + giving up of things that were almost second nature. He could not love the + girl as a good woman should be loved, and—and—well, the gray + eyes that had their strength because of supreme honesty would surely bring + him disquietude. It would indeed be difficult to change his nature much; + his habits were almost like leopard's spots; they were grown into the woof + of his existence. Even if he won her it must be almost entirely because of + a superior diplomacy. Everything told him that his love was not returned. + It seemed almost impossible that it should be; there was not more + disparity in their years than in their two selves. “All very fine again,” + he muttered, somewhat savagely; “I want her, I want her, not because of + anything but love. What she is, or what I am counts for nothing; love is + all compelling; my first master, I salute thee,” this in sarcastic + sincerity. + </p> + <p> + In his strength he relied upon his power to bring forth an answering love, + at least regard, should he win Allis. Yes, it would surely come. He had + not even a young rival to combat. Yes, he would win, first Allis, and + afterward her love. + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite silly,” he ejaculated; “but I can't help it. But I can go out + and get some fresh air, and I will.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII + </h2> + <p> + It was the middle of May. Down in the earth the strong heart of reawakened + nature throbbed with a pulsating force that sent new life forth on its + errand of rejuvenation. The apple trees had peeped out with pink eyes, and + seeing the summer maiden stalking through the land, had thrown off their + timid coyness and shaken loose a drapery of white, all rose-tinted and + green-shaded, that turned their broad-acred homes into fairy ball rooms. + And for music the bees, and the birds, and shrill fife-playing frogs + volunteered out of sheer joyousness of life. + </p> + <p> + Tiny shavings of green wag, the gentle spring grass, lay strewn about the + ballroom floor, and glistened in the warm light that was of one high-hung + chandelier, the sun. + </p> + <p> + But all the newborn awakening, all the sweet strength of soul and life + that was borne to the waiting land on the wings of soft winds, brought not + the hoped-for allotment to John Porter. + </p> + <p> + At Ringwood they had waited for the springtime. That would work the cure + the doctor's skill had failed of. A man of outdoors, it was the house + caging that was killing him, keeping him back. + </p> + <p> + These things were said; but Doctor Rathbone only shook his wise, old head, + with its world of good sense, and answered: “It is none of these things. + The trouble is in his mind; he is fretting. A sensitive man, well in body, + may be brought to illness by anticipated disaster. That could not have + been the case with John Porter well, but John Porter ill is quite a + different matter. It's as I have said before, give him hope, win him + races.” + </p> + <p> + So Allis was really glad at the near approach of the time of her trial. + The day was coming fast, soon, when She was to go forth with her little + band of horses, as a man almost in everything, to strive for the + fulfillment of that which had been put upon her. + </p> + <p> + The nearness of the not-to-be-shirked responsibility drove into her veins + an unlooked-for exhilaration of strength. She had thought that she would + look with dread upon the going away from Ringwood; that a feeling much + akin to stage fright would quite unnerve her at the very last. The riding + at home, the horse lore, and the almost constant companionship with her + father, always among horses and horsemen, though it appeared somewhat + dreadful to the village folks had been as nothing to her. Now that she + needed strength for the newer, stranger endeavor, it came to her, even as + the blossoms came to the swaying apple trees, great and small. + </p> + <p> + What wouldn't she do? she asked herself many times, to bring a + strength-giving peace to her father's troubled mind. Even Mrs. Porter, + implacably bitter against racing, must condone what was so evidently + Allis's study, if it tended to their happiness; the mother had softened + somewhat in the austerity of her opposition. + </p> + <p> + Evening after evening they had discussed the gloomy outlook, with, always + from Allis's side, a glimmer of hopeful light. The girl's patient resolve + had worn down the mother's pessimistic dread of anticipated evil. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Allis,” she had said, “how I look upon this thoroughly + unchristian pursuit. Nothing can justify it from a true woman's point of + view, absolutely nothing—not even poverty. I would willingly suffer + the loss of all we possess—that it is so little is due to this + dreadful, immoral horse racing—but I would sacrifice even what + remains, if your father were well and willing to start afresh in some + occupation befitting his noble character. I would help him, to endure + every hardship, even deprivation, without a murmur.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mother,” interrupted Allis, “it's impossible now; I think it always + was, for, as you know, father knew nothing of other business. Nothing + would tempt him to be dishonest in racing, and he always enjoyed it + because of his love for horses. But with all that, mother, if he had been + in a position to please you, if he had felt that we—you, and Alan, + and I—would not have suffered, I am sure he would have listened to + your pleadings and given it up. He might perhaps have gone on breeding + horses, for you wouldn't have objected to that, would you, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's the wicked associations of the race course which I felt degraded + a man of your father's character. But I'm not going to dishearten you, + Allis, nor hamper you now in your brave acceptance of the task that has + come to you, because of wrong done before. It is distasteful to me, of + course; it would be to any right-minded mother, to have her daughter in a + position so repellant; but, strange as it may seem I'd rather you went + with the horses than Alan.” + </p> + <p> + “Alan couldn't go, mother; he couldn't give up his place in the bank; + besides, father has purposely kept him from racing.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, Allis; I wasn't thinking of that, though. Alan has the + gambling spirit born in him; it's not his fault; it's the visitation of + the sins of the father upon the son. It came to your father in just the + same way. No, I'm not even blaming your father for it; it has come down + from generation to generation; but there has never been dishonor, thank + God—there has never been a dishonest Porter in my husband's family, + and, please God, there never may be. That would be too much! It would kill + me. And it's better that you go, Allis, for Alan is but a boy, and the + temptations to a young man at the race course must be almost impossible to + resist. Besides, your going may bring new life to your father; the doctor + is so hopeful—he says it will. He was afraid that he had shocked me, + when he said you were to win races for your father's good. It displeased + the pastor; I know it did, but perhaps he doesn't quite understand how + much we have at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “He's so narrow, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “The Reverend Mr. Dolman thinks only of our souls, daughter; naturally, + too, and one can hardly be a Christian and race horses. But we have got so + much to consider. I hope I am not wrong in feeling glad that you are able + to look after our interests. I should like to pray for your success even, + Allis. It might be wrong; I might feel guilty; but if it makes your father + better, don't you think I'd be forgiven?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you would, mother, and it would make me stronger. I'm so glad. I + didn't want to displease you. I wanted you to feel that I was doing right. + It will be lighter now; I sha'n't mind what anybody says if you're with + me, mother. Now everything will come out right; I know it will. And if it + does, if father gets strong, just out of thankfulness, I'll coax him to + try something else, for your sake, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “No, for his own, Allis. I think only of him in this matter.” The + prospective commencement of the racing campaign seemed to foreshadow a + complete fulfillment of the doctor's prophecy should success smile upon + this modern Joan of Arc; for the bustle of preparation was music to the + ears of the stricken man, and he fought the lethargic fever of discontent + that was over him until his eyes brightened and his face took on a hopeful + look of interest. + </p> + <p> + “Brave little woman,” he said to Allis, “it's a shame for a great hulk as + I am to lie up here, while you fight the sharks that were almost too much + for your father.” + </p> + <p> + Then he spoke a little lower, as a man utters unfamiliar words for the + first time. “Your mother said that Providence would look after you. Sounds + strange, doesn't it, girl? But I'm glad. Your mother was so bitter—I + don't blame her—now she's turned right around. And, Allis, I believe + with a little tempting, a little coaxing, she'd almost have a bet on + Lucretia in your hands. Funny, isn't it?” And he gave a little chuckle. + </p> + <p> + Allis hadn't heard her father laugh for a long time. It wasn't much of a + laugh, very dry, and very short lived, hardly lighting up his face at all, + but still it was the feeble pulsation of humor which showed that the old + John Porter spirit was not quite broken. + </p> + <p> + “About the betting, Allis, you must have Dixon come down here to see me, + for the horses are to go to his stable again, aren't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right. I thought we had arranged it that way, but I seem to forget + things since that bad tumble.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't forget much now, father; you're getting stronger in every way.” + </p> + <p> + “Blarney, girl. But I don't mind; your blarney is like the sunshine, that + comes through the window every day at ten. Ah, I know to the very minute + when to look for it. But about Dixon. Have him come down, for we must + arrange to back Lucretia—she's worth it. She's been doing well, + hasn't she, girl? O God! why can't I go out into the open and see the + little mare do just one gallop? And then I'd like to sit and look at the + trees sway back and forth in the wind. Their swing is like the free gallop + of a good horse.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped the brief, fretful remonstrance against fate with an apologetic + turning away of his head, and continued about the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia's in the Brooklyn, Allis; you know that, of course. If Dixon + starts her, the stake alone will be about enough to run for, for a + three-year-old has a tough job ahead in that mob of picked horses. But + you'll get a line on her there—I think she'll win with ninety-two + pounds up; but if she shows good form, then she'll have to be backed for + the Brooklyn Derby. Lucretia's the best three-year-old in the land, I + know. We'll have to arrange for that money. There will be a couple of + thousand to be had if it seems safe business. You and Dixon will judge of + that. You're taking Lauzanne, girl. Is it worth while?” + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne is going to do great things for us, father. I'm sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Still young, Allis. I talked like that when I was your age. Fancy and + horse racing go arm in arm always, and they're like an experienced man of + forty hobnobbing with the little love god; they're just about as well + mated.” + </p> + <p> + Porter's irrelevant simile caused Allis to start, and Crane's relentless + eyes came and peeped at her through the narrow-slitted lids. + </p> + <p> + “All right, though, little girl; your faith may make Lauzanne win, and I + think Lucretia's speed will carry her to the front, so you may strike a + bit of luck at last.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII + </h2> + <p> + A few days later Mike Gaynor took the stable up to Gravesend. Dixon had a + cottage there, which he occupied with his wife, and Allis was to stop with + them. + </p> + <p> + On the 20th of May the horses were settled in their racing quarters. Only + four days remained for introducing Lucretia to the Gravesend track; on the + 24th she would take up her ninety-two pounds and be tested to the utmost + in the great Brooklyn Handicap. + </p> + <p> + Dixon felt that several things were in her favor. She was as quiet as an + old cow at the post; many false starts would improve rather than diminish + her chances, for nothing seemed to excite the gallant little brown mare. + Her great burst of speed would enable the jockey to get out of the ruck + and steal a good place to lie handy at the leader's heels. She could be + nursed to the last furlong of the stretch, for the sight of horses in + front would not daunt her brave spirit. + </p> + <p> + Against the mare were two or three rather important factors; she was + slight of build, not overstrong, and the crush of contending horses might + knock her out of her stride, should they close in. Then there was just a + suspicion of lack of staying power in the Assassin strain; Lucretia might + not quite last the mile and a quarter so early in the season, being a + mare. However, she had a chance. + </p> + <p> + “But I'd hardly call it a betting chance,” Dixon said, speaking to Allis; + “there's never been a three-year-old won the Brooklyn yet. There'll be + openings enough to put down the money later on—in the Derby, if the + mare pans out well.” + </p> + <p> + Andy Dixon was first of all 'a careful man. “There are risks enough in + racin' without lookin' for them,” he said. “When one has got an absolute + lead-pipe cinch, it's two to one against its coming off.” That was another + of his conservative aphorisms. + </p> + <p> + Andy made no big wins, had never been booked as a successful plunger, had + never skinned the ring; on the other hand, bringing the scales of equity + to a dead level, he had never been forced to ask any man to pay his feed + bills for him, nor let an account stand over for a time. + </p> + <p> + Allis was in good hands, and, what added to the value of the situation, + she knew it, and would take Dixon's advice. The Trainer's opinion was + borne out by the betting market; Lucretia stood a long way down in the + list. Even Diablo, bad horse as he was supposed to be, was at a shorter + price; the heavy outlay of his owner, and some intangible rumors having + caused the bookmakers to feel inclined to hold him close up against their + chests. His work since his trial with The Dutchman had been quite + satisfactory. He looked upon Westley, the jockey, as a friend, and strode + along in his gallops as though he had never sulked or shown temper in his + life. + </p> + <p> + Favoritism for the Brooklyn was divided between The King, a five-year-old + that had won it the year before, and White Moth, a three-year-old, winner + of the last year's Futurity. Jockey Redpath had been riding Lucretia in + her gallops since she had come to Gravesend. At last Dixon had been + singularly fortunate in the matter of jockeys. Redpath was just making his + reputation, making it as all jockey reputations are made, by winning + races. + </p> + <p> + This somewhat unstudied factor in racing had loomed large on his mental + vision. It might be possible to acquire a reputation in other professions + by good fortune or favor. As a jockey, a light weight might possibly make + money by dishonest methods, though that itself seemed doubtful, but there + was no way to rise to the top of the tree except by riding winners; verily + there was one royal road to fame in the field. Knowing all this, Redpath + rode to win. + </p> + <p> + On the 22d Dixon gave Lucretia a good strong three-quarter gallop over the + handicap course; on the 23d she had a quiet canter; and on the morning of + the 24th, the eventful day, she poked her mouse-brown nozzle over the bar + of her stall when Allis came to look at her and seemed to say, “I'll do my + part to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing could have been wished for in Lucretia's appearance that wasn't + there, except just the faint suspicion of a sacrifice of strength to + speed. But if the frame wasn't there, the good strong heart was; the + courage and the gentleness, and the wisdom, and the full glow of perfect + health. + </p> + <p> + For hours the trains had borne to Long Island crowd after crowd of eager, + impatient New Yorkers. Lovers of horses, lovers of gambling, pure and + simple; holiday makers, and those who wished to see the Brooklyn run out + of sheer curiosity; train after train whirled these atoms of humanity to + the huge gates of the Gravesend arena, wherein were to battle that day the + picked thoroughbreds, old and young. + </p> + <p> + Even like bees, black-coated and buzzing, the eager ones swarmed from the + cars and rehived in the great stand. Betting ring, and paddock, and lawn + became alive because of their buzz; tier after tier, from step to roof, + the serrated line of whitefaced humanity waited for the grand struggle. + </p> + <p> + The first race was but a race, that was all. Horses galloped, but did they + not gallop other days? It was not the Brooklyn. And also the second was + but another race. How slow, and of what little interest were the horses! + Verily, neither was it the Brooklyn, and it was the Brooklyn forty + thousand pairs of eyes had come to see. + </p> + <p> + Down in the betting ring men of strong voices bellowed words of money + odds, and full-muscled shoulders pushed and carried heads about that were + intent on financial businesses. But what of that? It was not the Brooklyn, + it was gambling. + </p> + <p> + Out in the paddock a small brown mare of gentle aspect, with big soft + eyes, full of a dreamy memory of fresh-shooting grass, walked with easy + stride an elliptical circle. Her fetlocks fair kissed the short grass in + an unstable manner, as though the joints were all too supple. Inside of + the circle stood Allis Porter and a man square of jaw and square of + shoulder, that was Andy Dixon. Presently to them came Mike Gaynor. + </p> + <p> + “We're gittin' next it now, Miss Allis; we'll soon know all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “We're all ready, Mike,” said Dixon, with square solemnity. “When they've + beat the little mare they'll be catchin' the judge's eye.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing left now, Mike, but just a hope for a little luck,” added + the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ye'r talking now, Miss Allis. Luck's the trick from this out. The little + mare'll have a straight run this trip. Here's the b'y comin' now, and a + good b'y he is.” + </p> + <p> + A little man in blue jacket and white stars joined them, saluting Miss + Allis with his riding whip. “Are you going to win, Redpath?” asked the + girl. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to try, Miss. She's a sweet mare to ride, but it's a big field. + There's some boys riding that ought to be in the stable rubbing horses.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to get out in front,” said Dixon, speaking low; “your mare's + too light to stand crowdin', an' even if you have to take her back for a + breather after you've gone half the journey, she'll come again, for she's + game.” + </p> + <p> + “Them Langdon fellows thinks they've got a great chance wit' our cast-off, + Diablo,” volunteered Mike. “I had a peep at him in the stall, an' he's + lookin' purty fit.” + </p> + <p> + “He never was no class,” objected Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “If ye'd see him gallop the day he run away, ye'd think he had class,” + said Mike. “Bot' tumbs up! ye'd a t'ought it was the flyin' Salvator.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll soon know all about it,” declared Dixon. “There's the + saddlin' bell. Have you weighed out, Redpath? Weight all right, ninety-two + pounds?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir. It was a close call to make it, though; there was a few + ounces over.” + </p> + <p> + “All the better; it's a hot day, an' if they're long at the post it'll + take them spare ounces out of you, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + Dixon held up his finger to the boy that was leading Lucretia, and nodding + his head toward the stall led the way. + </p> + <p> + “We're number seven, Mike,” said Allis, looking at the leather tag which + carried the figure on Jockey Redpath's right arm. + </p> + <p> + “'There's luck in odd numbers, said Rory O'Moore,'” quoted Mike. + </p> + <p> + “I've a superstitious dread of seven,” the girl said; “it's the one number + that I always associate with disaster—I don't mind thirteen a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll break the bad luck seven to-day,” asserted little Redpath, bravely. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” answered Allis. “Let me put my finger on the number for good + luck,” and she touched the badge on his arm. “Now I'm going up to get a + good seat in the stand,” she continued; “I'll leave Lucretia to you, + Redpath.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV + </h2> + <p> + As the slight figure, looking slighter still in a long trailing race coat, + passed through the paddock gate to the stand enclosure, Mike Gaynor spoke + to the jockey. + </p> + <p> + “Redpath, me b'y, it's up to ye to put yer best leg for'ard to-day. Ye'r + ridin' for the greatest little woman in this big country. In all the stand + up there, wit' their flounces and jewels, there isn't a lady like her. Not + wan av them judys kin touch her as a rale proper lady. God bless me, she's + de sweetest—” then he checked himself; he was going to say the + sweetest filly, but even to his rough-hewn mind, tutored only by horse + lore, it seemed sacrilege to speak of Miss Porter as anything but a lady. + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Mike,” concurred the little man; “I'd rather ride the mare + for her than White Moth, or The King, or any of the favorites for their + owners.” + </p> + <p> + “An' the ould man lyin' there at home on his back, eh, Redpath? He's as + good as gold hisself; that's where the girl gets it; not sayin' a word + ag'in Mrs. Porter; she don't understand, that's all. But ye'll put up the + ride of your life, me b'y, won't ye?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do that, old chap.” + </p> + <p> + “Mike'll stand by ye,” affirmed Gaynor. “Say, b'y,” and he turned and + looked squarely into the eyes of the little man, “I know if they beats ye + to-day, 'twon't be yer fault 'cause why?”—and he put his hand on + Redpath's shoulder—''cause ye'r like many another man, sweet on the young + Missis. Now, now, now stop that!” and he held up his finger warningly, as + the other raised his voice in mild protest; “it's to yer credit. It'll do + ye no good in wan way, av coorse, for, as ye say, she'll never know it.” + Redpath had not made the statement Mike attributed to him, but the latter + was giving him a kindly pointer. “But it'll do ye no harm. The likin' av a + good woman will sometimes make a man av a scoundrel, but ye'r a long way + from bein' that, me b'y; so it'll do ye tons av good. There's the bugle; + go an' mount, an' I'll watch how ye get on; an' good luck to ye.” + </p> + <p> + Regally, one after another, in stately file, the turf kings, decked out + with the silken jackets that rested a-top—crimson, and gold, and + blue, and white, and magpie, passed through the paddock gate to the newly + smoothed course. Very modest and demure number seven, the little brown + mare, looked beside the strong-muscled giants, bright bay, golden + chestnut, and raven-wing black, that overshadowed her in the procession + that caught the forty thousand pairs of eyes. Something of this thought + came to Allis, sitting in the stand. What a frail little pair they were, + both of them, and to be there battling for this rich prize that was so + hardly fought for, by strong men athirst for gold, and great horses a-keen + for the gallop! + </p> + <p> + Ah, there was Diablo, the very number Allis had said carried no dread for + her, thirteen. What a strange coincidence! What a cruel twist of fate it + would be if he were to win!—he looked equal to it. A man sitting at + Allis's elbow suddenly cried in a voice enthused into the joyous treble of + a boy's: “Look at that big Black; isn't he a beaut? Number thirteen. + That's a hoodoo number, if you like; it's enough to give a backer cold + feet.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you weren't superstitious, Rex;” this was a woman's voice. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not, an' I'm going straight down to back that Black, thirteen and + all.” + </p> + <p> + On Allis's other side one of the party was ticking off the horses by their + numbers as they passed; “One, two, that's White Moth; they say she'll win; + three, Red Rover; four, what's that? that's George L.; five, six, seven; + just look at that little runt. What is it? Oh, Lucretia. Might as well run + a big calf, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + “She's just lovely,” declared a lady in the party. “She's as graceful as a + deer, and I'm sure she'll run as fast as any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't live in that mob; they'll smother a little thing like her,” + declared the man, emphatically. “Where are we—ten, eleven, The King, + that's the winner for a hundred. Look at him. He carries my money. It's + all over now; they can't beat him. That's a fine looker, though, thirteen,—Diabo, + eh? What's that horse Diablo, George?” turning to one of the men. + </p> + <p> + “No good—a maiden; I looked them all up in the dope book; how they + expect to win the Brooklyn with a maiden gets beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat tortured, Allis listened to the voluble man on her left, who was + short and fat, and red of face, as he graded, with egotistical + self-sufficiency, the thirteen competitors for the big Handicap. Lucretia + he had passed over in disdain. Crude as his judgment seemed, arrogantly + insufficient, it affected Allis disagreeably. Now that everything had been + done, that the last minute of suspense was on, she was depressed. The + exhilaration of preparation had gone from her, and the words of the + captious man on her left, “that little runt,” hung with persistent + heaviness on her soul. All the vast theater of the stand was a buzz of + eager chatter. Verily it was a race; it was the Brooklyn Handicap. Lips + that smiled gave a mocking lie to drawn, strained faces, and nervous, + shifting eyes, that told of the acceptance of too deep a hazard. The weeks + and months of mental speculation embodied in heavy bets would have their + fruit ripened and plucked within a brief half hour. + </p> + <p> + Allis's gaze dropped to the grass lawn in front of the stand for a minute, + her eyes seeking repose from the strain of watching the horses as they + went down to the starting post. How fretfully erratic were the men who + dotted its green sward with gray and solemn black! The deeper interest + Allis had over there on the course where was the little mare, seemed to + lift her to a great height above them. How like ants they were, crossing + and recrossing each other's paths, twisting and turning without semblance + of an objective point, creatures of an impulse almost lower than instinct, + devoid of this well-directed governing motive. Yes, they were like an army + of ants that had been suddenly thrown into confusion. She saw one of them + come hurriedly out of the paddock, talking impetuously with bended head—for + he was tall—to a short man in gray tweed, beyond doubt a trainer. + Suddenly the tall man broke away, hurried to the rail which separated the + lawn from the course, leaned far over its top to take a last look at the + horses, and then with a queer shuffling trot he hurried to the mob that + was surging and pushing about the bookmakers. Allis noted with minute + observance each little act in this pantomime of the last-minute plunge. + Just beneath where she sat two men were having a most energetic duel of + words. A slim, darkskinned youth, across whose fox-like face was written + in large letters the word “Tout,” was hammering into his obdurate + companion the impossibility of some certain horse being defeated. + Presently the other man's hand went into his pocket, and when it came + forth again five ten-dollar bills were counted with nervous reluctance and + hesitatingly made over to the Tout. Tight clutching his prize this pilot + of the race course slipped from Allis's sight and became lost in the + animated mass that heaved and swayed like full-topped grain in a harvest + breeze. + </p> + <p> + Within all that enclosure there seemed no one possessed of any calm. To + the quiet girl it was a strange revelation; no one could have as much at + stake as she had, and yet over her spirit there was nothing beyond the + lethargy of depression. No; no one is calm, she thought. Ah, the assertion + was too sweeping. Coming up the steps, just at her right, was a man who + might have been walking in a quiet meadow, or a full-leafed forest, for + all there was of agitation in his presence. A sudden new thought came to + Allis; she had never seen that face distraught but once. The collected man + was Philip Crane. A tinge of almost admiration tingled the girl's mind. To + be possessed of calm where all was nervous strain was something. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the unimpassioned face lighted up; the narrow-lidded eyes gleamed + with brightened interest. As eagerly as a boy their owner, Crane, came + forward and saluted Allis. At that instant the man of many words on her + left rose from his seat to chase through the interminable crowd on the + lawn a new victim. + </p> + <p> + Allis had sought to be alone in this short time of trial; she was hardly + sure of herself. If Lucretia failed she might break down; for what would + come to her father should the message home be one of disaster? Even if the + little mare won her joy might lead her to commit strange pranks; she felt + that her heart would burst out of sheer joy, if she did not shout in + exultation, or caper madly, as she had seen others do in the hour of + victory. She was sorry that Crane had come. + </p> + <p> + “I was looking for you,” he said; “I want to see you win this race; that + is, if—I mean, like every other man here, I have harked back to my + natural instinct of covetous acquisition and had a bet on.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Lucretia?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I've bet on Diablo. Langdon thinks he'll win. Do you remember + the agreement about his purchase?” + </p> + <p> + “What was that? I've half forgotten it.” + </p> + <p> + “Just a little bet on your account, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I remember; but that was only in fun, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It was part of the bargain, and it's on. You'll take it, won't you, if he + wins—” + </p> + <p> + “They're off!” Some one had shouted the magic words from the head of the + steps. In a second every voice of the thousands was stilled, and there was + only the noise of shuffling feet, as eager watchers stood up to see the + horses. + </p> + <p> + “It's a false start,” said Crane, quietly, turning toward the girl. “It + would have been well for you, Miss Allis, had the starter let them go. + Lucretia was well out in the lead; it was Diablo's fault, too, that they + had to go back—he was left standing.” + </p> + <p> + Crane's voice was Fate's voice. Would there never be anything but Lucretia + and Diablo, seven and thirteen, thirteen and seven? + </p> + <p> + “Diablo's a bad horse at the post, sure,” ejaculated Crane, letting his + field glass rest for an instant on his knee; “he just backs up and shakes + his head viciously; evidently he doesn't like the idea of so much + company.” + </p> + <p> + “How is Lucretia acting, Mr. Crane?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly. You must have instilled some of your own patience into her.” + </p> + <p> + The girl hardly heard the implied compliment. + </p> + <p> + Would the patience be rewarded? Or would thirteen, that was symbolical of + evil, and its bearer, Diablo, who was an agent of evil, together snatch + from her this prize that meant so much? It was strange that she should not + think of the other horses at all. It was as though there were but two in + the race—Lucretia and Diablo—and yet they were both outsiders. + </p> + <p> + “The Starter is having a bad time of it; that makes six false breaks,” + said Allis's companion; “it will end by his losing patience with the boys, + I fear, and let them go with something off in a long lead. But they say + this Fitzpatrick is a cool hand, and gives no man the best of it. He'll + probably fine Diablo's rider a hundred dollars; I believe it's customary + to do that when a jockey persistently refuses to come up with his horses. + Just look at that!—the black fiend has lashed out and nearly + crippled something.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Lucretia, Mr. Crane!” gasped Allis. + </p> + <p> + “No, it's a chestnut—there they go! Good boy, Westley. I mean + Diablo's jockey has done a fiendish clever thing. He came through his + horses on the jump, carried them off their feet, they all broke—yes, + the flag's down, and he's out with a clean lead.” + </p> + <p> + Down in front a bell was clanging viciously; people were rushing with + frenzied haste from the betting ring, and clambering up the steps of the + stand; in the stand itself the whole vast mob had risen to its feet, and + even now the rolling beat of eager hoofs was in the aid, hushed of the + mob's clamor. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Crane had spoken truly; a great striding black, along whose neck hung + close a tiny figure in yellow and red, was leading the oncoming horses. + Allis strained her eyes trying to discover the little mare, but she was + swallowed up in the struggling mob that hung at Diablo's heels. As they + opened a little, swinging around the first turn, Allis caught sight of the + white-starred blue jacket. Its wearer was quite fifth or sixth. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia is doing well,” said Crane; “she's holding her own; she's lapped + on White Moth.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed strange to Allis that any other thought should come into her + mind at that time other than just concern for Lucretia, but she caught + herself wondering at Crane's professional words of description. For the + time he was changed; the quick brevity of his utterance tokened an + interested excitement. He was not at all like the Crane she knew, the + cold, collected banker. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia's doing better,” her companion added a few seconds later. “If I + were given to sentiment, I should say her gallop was the poetry of motion. + She deserves to win. But honestly, Miss Allis, I think she'll never catch + the Black; he's running like a good horse.” + </p> + <p> + Allis could not answer; the strain was too great for words. It would be + all over in a minute or so; then she would talk. + </p> + <p> + “Your mare is creeping up, Miss Allis; she's second to the Black now, and + they've still a good three furlongs to go. You may win yet. It takes a + good horse to make all his own running for a mile and a quarter and then + in. His light weight may land him first past the post. There are only four + in it now, the rest are beaten off, sure. Diablo is still in the lead; + White Moth and Lucretia are a length back; and The King is next, running + strong. It's the same into the stretch. Now the boys are riding; Lucretia + is drawing away from White Moth—she's pressing Diablo. You'll win + yet!” + </p> + <p> + His voice was drowned by the clamor that went up from every side. “Diablo! + White Moth! Lucretia!” What a babel of yells! “He's beat! Come on!” It was + deafening. All the conjecture of months, all the hopes and fears of + thousands, compressed into a few brief seconds of struggling endeavor. + </p> + <p> + Allis had sat down. There was less frenzied excitement thus. + </p> + <p> + “God of Justice!” it was Crane's voice, close to her ear; his hot breath + was on her cheek; he had leaned down, so that she might hear him. “Your + jockey has sold you, or else Lucretia quit. I thought I saw him pull her + off. I'm sorry, Miss Allis, God knows I am, though I've won—for + Diablo is winning easily.” Then he straightened up for an instant, only to + bend down again and say, “Yes, Diablo has won, and Lucretia is beaten off. + Perhaps it wasn't the boy, after all, for it's a long journey for a + three-year-old mare. Can I do anything for you? Let me see you down to the + paddock.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” the girl answered, struggling with her voice. “Yes, I must + go, for Dixon will be terribly disappointed. I must go and put a brave + face on, I suppose. It's all over, and it can't be helped. But you've won, + and I congratulate you.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old dad!” she muttered to herself, “to have fairly given away Diablo + just when he was ready to win a big race.” With a tinge of bitterness the + girl thought how much her mother's opposition was to blame for this narrow + missing of a great victory. She was glad to get away from the cataract of + voices that smothered her like great falling waters. There was little + exultation. If it had been any solace to her, she had much companionship + in her dashed hopes; for Diablo, the winner, had not been backed by the + general public; the favorite, White Moth, had been beaten. + </p> + <p> + After the first outburst a sullen anger took possession of the race-goers. + They had been wronged, deceived; another coup had been made by that trick + manipulator, Langdon. How carefully he had kept the good thing bottled up. + If the mob could have put into execution its half-muttered thoughts, every + post about the Gravesend track would have been decorated with a fragment + of Langdon's anatomy. + </p> + <p> + Even the bookmakers were less jubilant than usual over this winning of an + outsider, for Crane, and Langdon, and Faust, and two or three others who + had either received a hint or stumbled upon the good thing, had taken out + of the ring a tidy amount of lawful currency. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV + </h2> + <p> + Crane accompanied Allis to the paddock gate; and she continued on to the + fatal number seven stall. Lucretia had just been brought in, looking very + distressed after her hard race. For an instant the girl forgot her own + trouble at sight of the gallant little mare's condition. Two boys were + busy rubbing the white-crusted perspiration and dust from her sides; + little dark rivulets of wet trickled down the lean head that hung wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we lost!” It was Dixon's voice at Allis's elbow. “That'll do,” to + the boys; “here, put this cooler on, and walk her about.” + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to Allis again. “She was well up with the leaders half way + in the stretch; I tho't she was goin' to win.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it too far for her, Dixon?” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer did not answer at once; with him at all times questions were + things to be pondered over. His knitted brows and air of hesitating + abstraction showed plainly that this question of Allis's was one he would + prefer to answer days later, if he answered it at all. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't she stop suddenly?” Allis asked, again. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't just see from where I was what happened,” he replied, + evasively; “and I haven't asked the boy yet. She may have got shut in. Ah, + here he comes now,” as the jockey returned from the weighing scales. + </p> + <p> + Redpath seemed to think that some explanation was necessary, as he came up + to Allis and the Trainer, so he said: “The little mare seemed to have a + chance when I turned into the stretch, an' I thought once I was goin' to + win; but that big Black just kept galloping, galloping, an' I never could + get to his head; I'd a been in the money, though, if somethin' hadn't + bumped me; an' then my mount just died away—she just seemed to die + away.” He repeated this is a falling decadence, as though it best + expressed his reason for finishing in the ruck. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we're beat, an' that's all there is to it,” declared Dixon, half + savagely; then he added, “an' by a cast-off out of your father's stable, + too, Miss Allis. If there's any more bad luck owin' John Porter, hanged if + I wouldn't like to shoulder it myself, an' give him a breather.” Then, + with ponderous gentleness for a big, rough-throwntogether man, he + continued: “Don't you fret, Miss; the little mare's all right; she'll pull + your father through all this; you just cheer up. I've got to go now an' + look after her.” + </p> + <p> + When the Trainer had gone the jockey turned to Allis, hesitatingly, and + said: “Dixon's correct about the little mare; she's all right. I wouldn't + speak even afore him, though he's all right too, but” and he looked about + carefully to see that nobody was within ear-shot. Two men were talking a + little farther out in the paddock, and Redpath, motioning to Allis, + stepped close to the stall that was next to the one Lucretia had occupied, + “I could a-been in the money.” + </p> + <p> + The girl started. Crane had said that the jockey had stopped riding. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss; you mustn't blame me, for I took chances of bein' had up afore + the Stewards.” + </p> + <p> + “You did wrong if you didn't try to win,” exclaimed Allis, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “I did try to win, but I couldn't. I saw that I'd never catch that big + Black; he was going too strong; his long stride was just breaking the + little mare's heart. She's the gamest piece of horseflesh—say, Miss + Porter, believe me, it just hurt me to take it out of her, keeping up with + that long-legged devil. If I could a-headed him once, just got to him once—I + tried it when we turned into the straight—he'd have quit. But it was + no use—the mare couldn't do it. With him out of the race I'd have + won; I could a-been second or third as it was, but it might have done the + little mare up so she wouldn't be any good all season. I thought a bit + over this when I was galloping. I knew she was in the Brooklyn Derby, an' + when I had the others beat at a mile, thinks I, if the public don't get + onto it, Mr. Porter can get all his losses back in the Brooklyn Derby. + That's why I eased up on the little mare. You don't think I could do + anything crooked against you, Miss? Give me the mount in the Derby, an' + your father can bet his last dollar 'that Lucretia'll win.” + </p> + <p> + As he finished speaking Mike Gaynor shuffled moodily up to them. Usually + Mike's clothes suggested a general despondency; his wiry body, devoid of + roundness as a rat trap, seemed inadequate to the proper expression of + their original design. The habitual air of endeavorless decay had been + accentuated by the failure of Lucretia to win the Brooklyn. Mike had + shrunken into his allenveloping coat with pathetic moroseness. The look of + pity in his eye when it lighted upon Allis gave place to one of rebellious + accusation as he turned his head slowly and glared at Redpath. + </p> + <p> + “Ye put up a bad ride there, b'y,” he commenced, speaking in a hard, dry, + defiant tone; “a bad ride, an' no mistake. Mind I'm not sayin' ye could + a-won, but ye might a-tried,” and he waited for Redpath's defense. + </p> + <p> + “She was all out, Mike, beat; what was the use of driving her to death + when she hadn't the ghost of a chance?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a little too hard on Redpath,” remonstrated Allis; “he's just been + telling me that he didn't wish to punish the mare unnecessarily.” + </p> + <p> + “His business was to win if he could, Miss,” answered Mike, not at all won + over. “It was a big stake, an' he ought to've put up a big finish. The + Black would've quit if ye'd ever got to his throat-latch; he's soft, + that's what he is. An' just where ye could have won the race, p'r'aps, ye + quit ridin' an' let him come home alone. It's queer b'ys that's ridin' + now, Miss,” Gaynor added, fiercely, nodding his head in great decision, + and, turning away abruptly, the petulant moroseness showing deeper than + ever in his wrinkled face. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't mind Mike, Redpath,” said Allis; “he's a good friend of our + family, and is upset over the race, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame him,” answered the jockey; “he would have rode it out and + spoiled your chance with the mare—that would have done no good.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, I hardly like it,” answered the girl. “I know you did it for my + sake, but it doesn't seem quite right. Don't do anything like this again. + Of course, I don't want Lucretia pushed beyond her strength, nor cut up + with the whip, but she ought to get the place if she can. People might + have backed her for the place, and we've thrown away their money.” + </p> + <p> + “The bettors will look after their own interests, Miss Porter, and they + wouldn't help you a little bit if you needed it; they'd be more like to do + you a bad turn. If I'd driven the mare to death, an' been beaten for the + place, as I might have, the papers would have slated me for cruelty. You + must believe that I did it for the best, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “I do, and I suppose I must thank you, but don't do it again. I'd rather + you didn't carry your whip at all on Lucretia; she doesn't need it; but + don't ease her up if you've got a chance till you pass the winning post.” + </p> + <p> + As the two finished speaking, and moved away, a thin, freckled face peered + furtively from the door of stall number six. Just the ferret-like eyes and + a knife-thin nose showed past the woodwork, but there could be no + mistaking the animal. It was Shandy. + </p> + <p> + “I've got you again,” he muttered. “Blast the whole tribe of you! I'll + just pip you on that dirty work, blowed if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI + </h2> + <p> + The Brooklyn had been run and won; won by Langdon's stable, and lost by + John Porter's. That night Allis spent hours trying to put into a letter to + her mother their defeat and their hopes in such a way as to save distress + to her father. She wound up by simply asking her mother to get Dr. + Rathbone to impart as much information as he deemed advisable to his + patient. + </p> + <p> + They were a very depressed lot at Dixon's cottage that evening. Dixon was + never anything else but taciturn, and the disappointment of the day was + simply revolving in his mind with the monotonous regularity of a + grindstone. They had lost, and that's all there was about it. Why talk it + over? It could do no good. He would nurse up Lucretia, and work back into + her by mile gallops a fitting strength for the Brooklyn Derby. With + incessant weariness he rocked back and forth, back and forth in the big + Boston rocker; while Allis, at a little table in a corner of the room, + sought to compose the letter she wished to send home. + </p> + <p> + With apathetic indifference the girl heard a constrained knock at the + cottage door; she barely looked up as Dixon opened to a visitor. It was + Crane who entered. + </p> + <p> + At almost any other time his visit would have been unpleasant. In his + presence even the most trivial conversation seemed shrouded in a + background of interested intentions; but to-night Dixon's constrained + depression weighed heavy on her spirits and irritated her. + </p> + <p> + “Luck was against you to-day, Dixon,” exclaimed the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “They were too strong for the little mare,” answered the Trainer, curtly. + “Our cast-off won, of course, but there were a half dozen in the race that + would have beaten Lucretia, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + Allis looked inquiringly at the Trainer; he had not talked that way to + her. Then a light dawned upon the girl. She had not associated Dixon with + diplomacy in her mind, she knew that he could maintain a golden silence, + but here he was, actually throwing out to the caller a disparaging + estimate of Lucretia's powers. This perpetual atmosphere of duplicity was + positively distasteful. In the free gallop of the horses there was nothing + but an inspiration to honest endeavor; but in this subtle diplomacy Allis + detected the touch of defilement which her mother so strongly resented. + Perhaps to-night she was more sensitive to depressing influences; at any + rate she felt a great weariness of the whole business. Then the spirit of + resolve rose in open rebellion against these questionings; almost + Jesuitical she became at once. What mattered the ways or means, so that + she did no wrong? Was not the saving of her father's health and spirit, + and his and her mother's welfare above all these trivial questionings; did + not the end justify the means; might not her success, if the fates in pity + gave her any, save her from—from—she did not even formulate in + thought the contingency, for there stood the living embodiment of + it-Crane; everything seemed crowding her into the narrow confines of her + sacrificial crypt. + </p> + <p> + Crane had spoken to her on his entry. As she was writing he had continued + his discussion of the race with Dixon; perhaps, even—it was a + hopeful thought, born of desire—he had come to see the Trainer. + Crane's next words dispelled that illusion. It was in answer to an + observation from Dixon that he was forced to go to the stables, that Crane + said: “If Miss Porter has no objection I'll remain a little longer; I want + to discuss a matter concerning her father.” + </p> + <p> + Allis felt quite like fleeing to the stables with Dixon; she dreaded that + Crane was going to bring up again the subject of his affection for her. + But the Trainer had passed out before she could muster sufficient moral + courage to put in execution her half-formed resolve. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to speak about that wager on Diablo,” began Crane. A thrill of + relief shot through the girl's heart. Why had be troubled himself to come + to her over such a trifling matter—a pair of gloves, perhaps half a + dozen pairs even. + </p> + <p> + “I put the bet on some time ago,” he continued, “when Diablo was at a long + price. It was only a trifle, as we agreed upon—” Allis noticed that + he laid particular stress upon “agreed.” “But it has netted you quite a + nice sum, three thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Crane said this in a quiet voice, without unction; but it startled the + girl—she stared in blank amazement. Her companion was evidently + waiting for her to say something; seemed to expect an exclamation of + joyous approval. She noticed that the gray eyes she so distrusted had + taken on that distasteful peeping expression, as though he were watching + her walk into a trap. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot take it,” answered Allis, decisively, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + Crane raised his hand in mild protest. + </p> + <p> + “It was good of you, kind; but how could I accept a large sum of money + like that when I am not entitled to it?” + </p> + <p> + “You are—it's yours. The bet was made in your name I entered it at + the time in my book, and the bookmaker is ready to pay the money over.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't take it—I won't. No, no, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be foolishly sensitive, Miss Allis. Think what your father lost + when he parted with Diablo for a trivial thousand dollars; and it was my + fault, for I arranged the sale. Your father's needs—pardon me, but I + know his position, being his banker—yes, he needs this money badly.” + </p> + <p> + “My father needs a good many things, Mr. Crane, which he would not accept + as a gift; he would be the last man to do so. We must just go on doing the + best we can, and if we can't succeed, that's all. We can't accept help, + just yet, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + She was bitter; the reference to her father's troubles, though meant + partly in kindness, angered her. It caused her to feel the meshes of the + net drawing closer about her, and binding her free will. The fight was + indeed on. More than ever she determined to struggle to the bitter end. + Almost indefinably she knew that to accept this money, plausible as the + offering was, meant an advantage to Crane. + </p> + <p> + “You can't leave this large sum with the bookmaker,” he objected. “He + would like nothing better; he would laugh in his sleeve. I can't take it; + it isn't mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't touch it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I had better speak to your father about it,” said Crane, + tentatively; “he can have no objection to accepting this money that has + been won.” + </p> + <p> + “Father won't take it, either,” answered the girl; “I know his ideas about + such matters. He won't take it.” + </p> + <p> + Crane brought all his fine reasoning powers to bear on Allis, but failed + signally in his object. He was unaccustomed to being balked, but the + girl's firm determination was more than a match for his adaptable + sophistry. He had made no headway, was quite beaten, when Dixon's + opportune return prevented absolute discomfiture. Crane left shortly, + saying to Allis as he bade them good night: “I'm sorry you look upon the + matter in this light. My object in coming to-night was to give you a + little hope for brightness in your gloomy hour of bad luck; but perhaps I + had better speak to your father.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather you didn't,” she answered, somewhat pleadingly. “Dr. Rathbone + has cautioned us all against worrying father, and this could have no other + result than but to distress him.” + </p> + <p> + Allis's letter had been completed, but she now added a postscript, telling + her mother briefly of Crane's insistence over the bet, and beseeching her + to devise some plan for keeping this new disturbing element from her + father. + </p> + <p> + Crane was remaining over night in Gravesend, and, going back to his + quarters, he reviewed the evening's campaign. He had expected opposition + from Allis, but had hoped to overcome the anticipated objections; he had + failed in this, but it was only a check, not defeat. + </p> + <p> + He smiled complacently over his power of self-control in having allowed no + hint of his absorbing passion to escape him. + </p> + <p> + Acceptance of this money by Allis, the money which was the outcome of an + isolated generous thought, would have given him a real advantage. To have + spoken, though never so briefly of his hopes for proprietary rights, would + have accentuated the girl's sensitive alarm. He was too perfect a + tactician to indulge in such poor sword play; he had really left the + question open. A little thought, influenced by the desperate condition of + Porter's fortunes, might make Allis amenable to what was evidently her + best interest, should she be approached from a different quarter. + </p> + <p> + Crane had made the first move, and met checkmate; the second move would be + through Allis's mother; he determined upon that course. All his old + cunning must have surely departed from him if he could not win this girl. + Fate was backing him up most strenuously. Diablo had been cast into his + hands—thrust upon him by the good fortune that so steadily + befriended him. He was not in the habit of attributing unlooked-for + success to Providence; he rarely went beyond fate for a deity. + Unmistakably then it was fate that had cast the horoscope of his and + Allis's life together. Never mind what means he might use to carry out + this decree; once accomplished, he would more than make amends to the + girl. + </p> + <p> + He drew most delightful pictures of the Utopian existence his wealth would + make possible for Allis. For the father he would provide a racing stable + that would bring profit in place of disaster. Crane smiled somewhat grimly + as he thought that under those changed circumstances even Allis's mother + might be brought to condone her husband's continuance in the nefarious + profession. If for no other reason than the great success he had made in + the Brooklyn Handicap with Diablo, his spirits were that evening + impossible of the reception of even a foreshadowing of failure. A + suppressed exhilaration rose-tinted every projected scheme. He would win + Allis, and he would win the Brooklyn Derby with his good colt, The + Dutchman. + </p> + <p> + He went to sleep in this happy glamour of assured success, and, by the + inevitable contrariness of things, dreamed that he was falling over a + steep precipice on The Dutchman's back, and that at the bottom Mortimer + and Allis were holding a blanket to catch him in his fall. Even in his + imaginative sleep, he was saved from a dependence upon this totally + inadequate receptacle for a horse and rider, for he woke with a gasp after + he had traveled with frightful velocity for an age through the air. + </p> + <p> + Crane was a man not given to superstitious enthrallment; his convictions + were usually founded on basic manifestations rather than fanciful visions; + but somehow the night's dream fastened upon his mind as he lingered over a + breakfast of coffee and rolls. Even three cups of coffee, ferociously + strong, failed to drown the rehearsal of his uncomfortable night's gallop. + Why had he linked Mortimer and Allis together? Had it been fate again, + prompting him in his sleep, giving him warning of a rival that stood + closer to the girl than he? + </p> + <p> + More than once he had thought of Mortimer as a possible rival. Mortimer + was not handsome, but he was young, tall, and square-shouldered—even + his somewhat plain face seemed to reflect a tall, square-shouldered + character. + </p> + <p> + Subconsciously Crane turned his head and scanned critically the reflection + of his own face in a somewhat disconsolate mirror that misdecorated a + panel of the breakfast room. Old as the glass was, somewhat bereaved of + its quicksilver lining at the edge, it had not got over its habit of + telling the truth. Ordinarily little exception could have been taken to + the mirrored face; it was intellectual; no sign-manual of cardinal sin had + been placed upon it; it was neither low, nor brutal, nor wolfishly cunning + in expression. Its pallor rather loaned an air of distingue, but—and + the examination was being conducted for the benefit of a girl of twenty—it + was the full-aged visage of a man of forty. + </p> + <p> + More than ever a conviction fixed itself in Crane's mind that, no matter + how strong or disinterested his love for Allis might be, he would win her + only by diplomacy. After all, he was better versed in that form of + love-making, if it might be so called. + </p> + <p> + Crane was expecting Langdon at ten o'clock. He heard a step in the + breakfast room, and, turning his head, saw that it was the Trainer. + Mechanically Crane pulled his watch from his pocket; he had thought it + earlier; it was ten. Langdon was on time to a minute. Nominally what there + was to discuss, though of large import, required little expression. With + matters going so smoothly there was little but assurances and + congratulations to be exchanged. Diablo's showing in the big Handicap + confirmed Langdon's opinion that both the Black and The Dutchman had given + them a great trial; probably they would duplicate their success with The + Dutchman in the Brooklyn Derby. It was only a matter of a few days, and + the son of Hanover had steadily improved; he was in grand fettle. + </p> + <p> + Langdon's appreciation of Crane's cleverness had been enhanced by the + successful termination of what he still believed was a brilliantly planned + coup. He had never for an instant thought that Crane purchased the horse + out of kindness to anyone. It was still a matter of mystery to him, + however, why his principal should wish to keep dark just how he had + learned Diablo's handicap qualities. + </p> + <p> + Accustomed to reading Langdon's mind, Crane surmised from the Trainer's + manner that the latter had something that he had not yet broached. Their + talk had been somewhat desultory, much like the conversation of men who + have striven and succeeded and are flushed with the full enjoyment of + their success. Suddenly the Trainer drew himself together, as if for a + plunge, and said: “Did you notice Porter's mare in the Brooklyn, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; she ran a pretty good race for a three-year-old.” + </p> + <p> + “She did, an' I suppose they'll start her in the Derby. Do you happen to + know, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy they will,” answered Crane, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “She stopped bad yesterday; but I've heard somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + Crane remembered his own suspicion as to Lucretia's rider, but he only + said, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “After the race yesterday the jockey, Redpath, was talkin'—to the + Porter gal—” + </p> + <p> + Crane started. It jarred him to hear this horseman refer to Allis as “the + Porter gal.” + </p> + <p> + “Redpath told her,” proceeded Langdon, “that when he saw he couldn't quite + win he pulled his mount off to keep her dark for the Derby.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know this?” + </p> + <p> + “A boy in my stable happened to be in the stall an' heard 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's the boy? Can you believe him?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Shandy. He used to be with the Porters.” + </p> + <p> + Like a flash it came to Crane that the spy must be the one who had written + him the note about Faust and the change of saddles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that doesn't affect us, that I can see,” commented Crane. “I'm not + backing their mare.” + </p> + <p> + “It means,” declared Langdon, with great earnestness, “that if Lucretia + could have beat all the others but Diablo, she has a rosy chance for the + Derby; that's what it means. The Black got away with a flyin' start, and + she wore him down, almost beat him; I doubt if The Dutchman could do that + much. She was givin' him a little weight, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can't help it. I've backed The Dutchman to win a small fortune, + and I'm going to stand by it. You're in it to the extent of ten thousand, + as you know, and we've just got to try and beat her with our colt; that's + all there is to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it,” muttered Langdon, surlily. “She's a mighty good + three-year-old to put up a race like that.” + </p> + <p> + “She may go off before Derby day,” suggested Crane; “mares are uncertain + at this time of year.” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it; if she would go off we'd feel pretty sure then. I think + the race is between them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll know race day; if she goes to the post, judging from what you + say, it'll be a pretty tight fit.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't cut much figure last year when Lauzanne beat her.” Langdon + said this with a drawling significance; it was a direct intimation that if + Lucretia's present jockey could be got at, as her last year's rider had + been—well, an important rival would be removed. + </p> + <p> + Crane had not been responsible for the bribing of Lucretia's jockey, + though he was well aware what had occurred; had even profited by it. + </p> + <p> + “There'll be no crooked work this time,” he said; “nobody will interfere + with the mare's rider, I hope,” and he looked significantly at Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they will,” and the Trainer gave a disagreeable laugh. + “From what Shandy tells me, I fancy it would be a bad game. The truth of + the matter is that gosling Redpath is stuck on the gal.” + </p> + <p> + Crane's pale face flushed hot. + </p> + <p> + “I believe that Shandy you speak of is a lying little scoundrel. I have an + idea that he wrote me a note, a wretched scrawl, once. Wait, I've got it + in my pocket; I meant to speak to you about it before.” + </p> + <p> + Crane drew from the inner pocket of his coat a leather case, and after a + search found Shandy's unsigned letter, and passed it over to the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “It's dollars to doughnuts Shandy wrote it. Let me keep this, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome to it,” answered Crane; “you can settle with him. But + about the Derby, I have reasons for wishing to win that race, reasons + other than the money. I want to win it, bad. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I do. When you say you want to win a race, you generally want to + win it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. But see here, Langdon, just leave their jockey to take orders + from his own master, see?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't goin' to put up no game with him, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, of course not. It wouldn't do. He's a straight boy, I + think, and just leave him to ride the best he knows how. We've got a + better jockey in Westley. Besides, the Brooklyn Handicap has taken a lot + out of their mare; they may find that she'll go back after it. I think + you'd better get rid of that Shandy serpent; he seems ripe for any + deviltry. You can't tell but what he might get at The Dutchman if somebody + paid him. If I'm any judge of outlawed human nature, he'd do it. I've got + to run down to Brookfield on a matter of business, but shall be back again + in a day or so. Just keep an eye on The Dutchman—but I needn't tell + you that, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “That two-year-old I bought at Morris Park is coughin' an' runnin' at the + nose; I blistered his throat last night; he's got influenza,” volunteered + the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Keep him away from The Dutchman, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got him in another barn; that stuff's as catchin' as measles.” + </p> + <p> + “If The Dutchman were to get a touch of it, Porter would land the Derby + with Lucretia, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Or if they got it in their stable we'd be on Easy Street.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. But Dixon's pretty sharp; he'll look out if he hears it's + about. However, we've got to watch our own horse and let them do the + same.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII + </h2> + <p> + That evening Langdon and Jakey Faust were closeted together in a room of + the former's cottage. An A1 piece of villainy was on, and they were + conversing in low tones. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cinch for The Dutchman if it wasn't for that damn mare Lucretia,” + Langdon observed, in an injured tone, as though somehow the mare's + excellence was an unwarranted interference with his rights. + </p> + <p> + “What about the jock?” asked Faust. + </p> + <p> + “No good—can't be done. He's mooney on the gal.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” commented the Cherub. “Did you talk it over with the Boss? He's not + a bad guy gettin' next a good thing.” + </p> + <p> + “He gave me the straight tip to give Redpath the go-by.” + </p> + <p> + “What's his little game? Is he going to hedge on the mare?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he'll stand his bet flat-footed. Say, he's the slickest! If he didn't + give me the straight office that the mare might get sick, then I'm a + Dutchman.” + </p> + <p> + “We're both Dutchmen.” The Cherub laughed immoderately at his stupid joke. + “See, we're both standin' for The Dutchman, ain't we?” + </p> + <p> + Langdon frowned at the other's levity. “You'll laugh out the other side + your mouth if Lucretia puts up a race in the Derby like she did in the + Handicap.” + </p> + <p> + “But ain't she goin' to get sick? We could whip-saw them both ways then, + that's if we knew it first. I could lay against her an' back your horse.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish the old man wasn't so devilish deep; he makes me tired sometimes; + gives it to me straight in one breath that he's got reasons for wantin' to + win the race, an' then he pulls that preacher mug of his down a peg an' + says, solemn like: 'But don't interfere with their jockey.' Then he talks + about The Dutchman or Lucretia gettin' the influenza, an' that Andy Dixon + is pretty fly about watchin' the mare. Now what do you make of all that, + Jake?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you area mug. It don't need no makin' up. That book's all rounded + to. He wants the mare stopped, an' don't want no muddlin' about with the + jockey, see? Wasn't there a row over stoppin' Lucretia last year? Wasn't + the boy set down for the meetin'? You ought to know; you had to pay + through the nose for shuttin' his mouth. But what made the old man talk + about the mare gettin' sick?” + </p> + <p> + Langdon searched his memory; just how was that subject started? “Damn it! + yes, of course; I told him about the two-year-old havin' the influenza.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Dick, my boy, you've guessed it, though you weren't trying. Crane + would like to see the Porter mare coughin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't take a strange horse into their stable, an' him sick,” + objected the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, Dick. But you could take the sickness there, if you had a + boy with the sabe.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinkin' of that,” said Langdon, reflectively; “I was wonderin' if + that's what the Boss meant.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing—that's his way; he never wants to stand in for none of + the blame, but he likes to feel sure that he's goin' to win.” + </p> + <p> + “It looks a bit like it, damn me if it don't; an' I believe he was givin' + me a pointer about the proper boy for the job, too. He said Shandy would + get at a horse quick enough if he was paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + “There you are; what more do you want? Would you have Crane get out on the + housetop an' shout to you to go an' cruel Porter's mare? He's slick, he + is, an' if it can be done you've got a great chance.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a poor man,” whined Langdon, “an' I can't take no chances on loosin' + ten thousand, if it can be helped.” + </p> + <p> + “It's got to be done right away, 'cause it'll take a couple of days to get + the mare coughin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I told Shandy to come here,” said the Trainer; “he ought to be turnin' up + soon. When you hear him knock, just slip into that other room, an' leave + the door open a little so that you can hear what takes place. God knows + what that young imp wouldn't swear if a fellow had no witnesses. I think + he's comin' here to-night to ask me to pay him to do some dirty job, an' I + won't do it, see?” and he winked at Faust. “He's a bad boy,” said the + Bookmaker, in a tone of mock condemnation. + </p> + <p> + “There he is now,” declared Langdon. “I hear a step on the gravel. Quick, + slip into the room; he'll be peepin' through the windows; he's like a + fox.” + </p> + <p> + There was a knock at the door. When Langdon opened it Shandy shuffled into + the room with a peculiar little rocking-horse sort of gait, just like the + trot of a skunk. His whole appearance somehow suggested this despised + animal. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard anything from the Porter stable?” Langdon asked, when the + boy had taken a seat. + </p> + <p> + “The little mare's well,” the boy answered, laconically. + </p> + <p> + “That's bad luck for us, Shandy. We'll be poorer by the matter of a few + thousand if they win the Derby.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's we?” questioned Shandy, with saucy directness. + </p> + <p> + “The whole stable. A man has played The Dutchman to win a hundred + thousand, an' he's goin' to give the boys, one or two of them, five + hundred if it comes off.” + </p> + <p> + The small imp's weak, red-lidded eyes took on a hungry, famished look. + “What're you givin' us is that straight goods?” he demanded, doubtingly. + </p> + <p> + Langdon didn't answer the question direct; he said: “My man's afraid + somebody'll get at The Dutchman. There's a lot of horse sickness about, + an' if anyone was to take some of the poison from a sick horse's nose and + put it in The Dutchman's nostrils at night, why he'd never start in the + Derby, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + A look of deep cunning crept into the boy's thin freckled face; his eyes + contracted and blinked nervously. + </p> + <p> + “What th' 'ell's the difference? If the Porter mare starts Redpath thinks + he's got a lead-pipe cinch.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd lose your five hundred; that's the difference,” retorted Langdon. + </p> + <p> + “An' if she doesn't start, an' our horse wins, I get five hundred? Is that + dead to rights?” + </p> + <p> + “If The Dutchan wins you get the money,” replied the Trainer, + circumspectly. “You mustn't come to me, Shandy, with no game about takin' + the horse sickness from, our two-year-old an' fixin' Porter's mare, 'cause + I can't stand for that, see?” + </p> + <p> + The boy would have interrupted, but Langdon motioned him to keep silent, + and proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “You see, if it leaked out an' we'd won a lot of money over The Dutchman, + damn fools would say that I'd been at the bottom of it; an' if they had me + up in front of the Stewards I couldn't swear that I'd had nothing to do + with it.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket, held it in front of Shandy's + eyes, and said: “What did you write that letter for?” + </p> + <p> + The boy stared in blank amazement. He trembled with fear; it was the + warning note he had sent to Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Now if I was to show that to Faust he'd put a pug on to do you up, see? I + wouldn't give three cents for your carcass after they'd finished with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean nothin', s' help me God, I didn't,” pleaded the boy; “give + it back to me, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You can take it, only don't play me the double cross no more. If you're + doin' anything crooked, don't mix me up in it. You couldn't get into + Porter's stable, anyway, if you tried to fix the mare.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say I was goin' to do no bloomin' job; but I could get in right + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't puttin' you next no dirty work, but if you hear that the + mare gets this horse sickness that's goin' about, let me know at once, + see? Come here quick. If Faust got a chance to lay against the mare he + probably wouldn't say anythin' about that note, if he did know.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you the office, sir, when she's took sick.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right. You ain't got any too many friends, Shandy, an' you'd + better stick to them that'll help you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I get that five hundred, sure?” + </p> + <p> + “If Lucretia don't beat The Dutchman, you get it.” + </p> + <p> + When the boy had gone Faust came forth from his hiding like a badger. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bad boy—a wicked boy!” he said, pulling a solemn face. + “You're a good man, Langdon, to steer him in the straight an' narrer path. + He'll take good care of The Dutchman for that five hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you don't pay these kids well they'll throw you down; an' I ain't + takin' no chances, Faust.” + </p> + <p> + “The Porter mare might catch the influenza, eh, Dick?” + </p> + <p> + “If she does, I'll let you know at once, Jake. But I ain't in it. I + threatened to kick that kid out when he hinted at something crooked.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard you, Langdon, I'll take my oath to that. But I must be off now. + You know where to find me if there's anything doin'.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + The next day, intent on persuading Porter to accept the money won over + Diablo, Crane took a run down to Ringwood farm. + </p> + <p> + As Allis had foreshadowed, his visit was of no avail, so far as Porter's + acceptance of the winnings was concerned. + </p> + <p> + With natural forethought Crane first talked it over with Mrs. Porter, but + that good lady would have felt a sort of moral defilement in handling any + betting money, much less this that seemed obscured in uncertainty as to + its rightful ownership. She believed very much in Crane's bona fides, and + had no doubt whatever but his statement of the case was absolutely + truthful. But Allis had refused to accept the money; it would never do for + her to go beyond her daughter's judgment. She even thought it unadvisable + for Crane to discuss the matter with her husband; it would only worry him, + and she was positive that, in his pride of independence, he would refuse + to touch a penny that was not actually due him. + </p> + <p> + “But there's a payment on Ringwood due in a few days,” Crane argued, “and + we must arrange for that at all events. If this money, which is rightfully + your family's, could be applied on that, it would make a difference, don't + you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose John must settle it,” she said, resignedly; “perhaps you had + better see him. I can't interfere one way or the other. I have no head for + business,” she added, apologetically; “I'm not sure that any of us have + except Allis. We just seem to drift, drift, drift.” + </p> + <p> + Crane stated the facts very plausibly, very seductively, to John Porter. + Porter almost unreasonably scented charity in Crane's proposal. He + believed that the bet was a myth; Crane was trying to present him with + this sum as a compensation for having lost Diablo. It wasn't even a loan; + it was a gift, pure and simple. His very helplessness, his poverty, made + him decline the offer with unnecessary fierceness. If Allis had refused + it, if she were strong enough to stand without this charity, surely he, a + man, battered though he was, could pass it by. He had received a hopeful + message from Allis as to Lucretia's chances in the Derby; they felt + confident of winning. That win would relieve them of all obligations. + </p> + <p> + “I can't take it,” Porter said to Crane. “Allis is more familiar with the + circumstances of the bet—if there was one—than I. It must just + rest with her; she's the man now, you know,” he added, plaintively; “I'm + but a broken wreck, and what she says goes.” + </p> + <p> + “But there's a payment on Ringwood falling due in a few days,” Crane + remonstrated, even as he had to Mrs. Porter. + </p> + <p> + Porter collapsed, fretfully. He could stand out against prospective + financial stringency, but actual obligations for which he had no means + quite broke down his weakened energy. He had forgotten about this + liability, that is, had thought the time of payment more distant. He would + be forced to recall the money he had given Dixon to bet on Lucretia for + the Derby, to meet this payment to the bank. + </p> + <p> + Quite despondently he answered the other man. “I had forgotten all about + it; this shake-up has tangled my memory. I can pay the money, though,” he + added, half defiantly; “it will hamper me, but I can do it.” + </p> + <p> + A sudden thought came to Crane, an inspiration. “I've got it!” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Porter brightened up; there was such a world of confidence in the other's + manner. + </p> + <p> + “We'll just let this Diablo money stand against the payment which is about + due on Ringwood; put it in the bank to cover it, so to speak; later we can + settle to whom it belongs. At present it seems to be nobody's money; it's + seldom one sees a few thousand going abegging for an owner,” he added, + jocularly. “You say it isn't yours; I know it isn't mine; and most + certainly it doesn't belong to the bookmaker, for he's lost it fair and + square. We can't let him keep it; they win enough of the public's money.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly, Porter gave a half-hearted acquiescence. He would have + sacrificed tangible interests to leave the money that was in Dixon's hands + with him to bet on Lucretia. It would be like not taking the tide at its + flood to let her run unbacked when her chances of winning were so good, + and the odds against her great enough to insure a big return. + </p> + <p> + It was after banking hours, quite toward evening, by the time Crane had + obtained this concession. He had brought the winnings for John Porter's + acceptance, should the latter prove amenable to reason. Now it occurred to + him that he might leave the money with one of the bank staff, who could + deposit it the next day. + </p> + <p> + Crane drove back to the village and went at once to the cashier, Mr. + Lane's house. He was not at home; his wife thought perhaps he was still in + the bank. Crane went there in search of him. He found only Mortimer, who + had remained late over his accounts. From the latter Crane learned that + the cashier had driven over to a neighboring town. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter,” remarked Crane; “I can leave this money with you. + It's to meet a payment of three thousand due from John Porter about the + middle of June. You can put it in a safe place in the vault till the note + falls due, and then transfer it to Porter's credit.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll attend to it, sir,” replied Mortimer. “I'll attach the money to the + note, and put them away together.” + </p> + <p> + On his way to the station Crane met Alan Porter. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you'd like a holiday to see your father's mare run for the + Derby, wouldn't you, Alan?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I should very much, sir; but Mr. Lane is set against racing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think he'll let you off that day. I'll tell him he may. But, like + your mother, I don't approve of young men betting—I know what it + means.” + </p> + <p> + He was thinking, with bitterness, of his own youthful indiscretions. + </p> + <p> + “If you go, don't bet. You might be tempted, naturally, to back your + father's mare Lucretia, but you would stand a very good chance of losing.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think she'll win, sir?” Alan asked, emboldened by his + employer's freedom of speech. + </p> + <p> + “I do not. My horse, The Dutchman, is almost certain to win, my trainer + tells me.” Then he added, apologetic of his confidential mood, “I tell you + this, lest through loyalty to your own people you should lose your money. + Racing, I fancy, is very uncertain, even when it seems most certain.” + </p> + <p> + Again Crane had cause to congratulate himself upon the somewhat clever + manipulation of a difficult situation. He had scored again in his + diplomatic love endeavor. He knew quite well that Allis's determined stand + was only made possible by her expectation of gaining financial relief for + her father through Lucretia's winning the Derby. Should she fail, they + would be almost forced to turn to him in their difficulties. That was what + he wanted. He knew that the money won over Diablo, if accepted, must + always be considered as coming from him. The gradual persistent dropping + of water would wear away the hardest stone; he would attain to his wishes + yet. + </p> + <p> + He was no bungler to attempt other than the most gently delicate methods. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX + </h2> + <p> + Encouraged by Jockey Redpath's explanation of his ride on Lucretia, Allis + was anxious that Dixon should take the money her father had set aside for + that purpose and back their mare for the Brooklyn Derby. + </p> + <p> + “We had better wait a day or two,” Dixon had advised, “until we see the + effect the hard gallop in the Handicap has had on the little mare. She + ain't cleanin' up her oats just as well as she might; she's a bit off her + feed, but it's only natural, though; a gallop like that takes it out of + them a bit.” + </p> + <p> + It was the day after Crane's visit to Ringwood that Dixon advised Allis + that Lucretia seemed none the worse for her exertion. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we'd better put the money on right away,” he said. “She's sure to + keep well, and we'll be forced to take a much shorter price race day.” + </p> + <p> + “Back the stable,” advised Allis, “then if anything happens Lucretia we + can start Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer laughed in good-natured derision. “That wouldn't do much good; + we'd be out of the frying pan into the fire; we'd be just that much more + money out for jockey an' startin' fees; he'd oughter been struck out on + the first of January to save fifty dollars, but I guess you all had your + troubles about that time an' wasn't thinkin' of declarations.” + </p> + <p> + “It may have been luck; if Lauzanne would only try, something tells me + he'd win,” contended the girl. + </p> + <p> + “And somethin' tells me he wouldn't try a yard,” answered Dixon, in + good-humored opposition. “But I don't think it'll make no difference in + the odds we get whether we back the stable or Lucretia alone; they won't + take no stock in the Chestnut's prospects.” + </p> + <p> + So Dixon made a little pilgrimage among the pencilers. He was somewhat + dismayed and greatly astonished that these gentry also had a somewhat rosy + opinion of Lucretia's chances. Her good gallop in the Brooklyn Handicap + had been observed by other eyes than Crane's. Ten to one was the best + offer he could get. + </p> + <p> + Dixon was remonstrating with a bookmaker, Ulmer, when the latter answered, + “Ten's the best I'll lay—I'd rather take it myself; in fact, I have + backed your mare because I think she's got a great chance; she'll be at + fours race day. But I'll give you a tip—it's my game to see the + owner's money on,” and he winked at the Trainer as much as to say, “I'll + feel happier about it if we're both in the same boat.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be on, sure thing, if I can get a decent price.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you go to Cherub Faust; he'll lay you longer odds. I put my bit on + with him at twelve, see? If I didn't know that you an' Porter was always + on the straight I'd a-thought there was somethin' doin', an' Faust was + next it, stretchin' the odds that way. How's the mare doin—is she + none the worse?” Ullmer asked, a suspicious thought crossing his mind. + </p> + <p> + “We're backin' her—an' money talks,” said Dixon, with quiet + assurance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Faust is wise to somethin'—he stands in with Langdon, an' I + suppose they think they've got a cinch in The Dutchman. Yes, that must be + it,” he added, reflectively; “they made a killin' over Diablo, an' likely + they got a good line on The Dutchman through him in a trial. But a + three-year-old mare that runs as prominent in the big Handicap as Lucretia + did, will take a lot of beatin. She's good enough for my money.” + </p> + <p> + Thanking him, Dixon found Faust, and asked of him a quotation against + Porter's stable. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve is the best I can do,” answered the Cherub. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take fifteen to one,” declared Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “Can't lay it; some of the talent—men as doesn't make no mistake, is + takin' twelve to one in my book fast as I open my mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “I want fifteen,” replied Dixon, doggedly. “Surely the owner is entitled + to a shade the best of it.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the size of your bet?” queried the Cherub. + </p> + <p> + “If you lay me fifteen, I'll take it to a thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “But you want it ag'in' the stable, an' you've two in; with two horses + twelve is a long price.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm takin' it against the stable just because it's the usual thing to + couple it in the bettin. It's a million to one against Lauzanne's starting + if Lucretia keeps well.” + </p> + <p> + Faust gave a little start and searched Dixon's face, furtively. The + Trainer's stolid look reassured him, and in a most sudden burst of + generosity he said: “Well, I'll stretch a point for you, Dixon. Your boss + is up ag'in' a frost good and hard. I'll lay you fifteen thousand to one + ag'in' the stable, an' if Lauzanne wins you'll buy me a nice tiepin.” + </p> + <p> + His round, fat sides heaved spasmodically with suppressed merriment at the + idea of Lauzanne in the Brooklyn Derby. + </p> + <p> + “They must have a pretty good opinion of The Dutchman,” Dixon thought, as + he moved away after concluding the bet. “I'm naturally suspicious of that + gang, when they get frisky with their money. It's a bit like I've heard + about the Sultan of Turkey always givin' a present to a man before cutting + his head off.” + </p> + <p> + The Trainer told Allis what he had done. He even spoke of his distrust at + finding Faust laying longer odds against their mare than the other + bookmakers. “But I don't see what they can do,” he said, reflectively, + studying the grass at his feet, his brow quite wrinkled in deep thought. + “The mare's well, and we can trust the boy this time, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can trust Redpath,” affirmed Allis, decisively. “If Faust is in + with Langdon, as you say, it just means that they're goin' on their luck, + and think their colt, The Dutchman, can't lose.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be that,” concurred the Trainer, but in a hesitating tone that + showed he was not more than half satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “You backed the stable?” queried Allis, as an afterthought. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, an' Lauzanne'll have a chance to-day to show whether he's worth the + pencil that wrote his name beside Lucretia's.” + </p> + <p> + “You are starting him to-day? I had almost forgotten that he was entered.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it'll give him a fair trial—it's a mile, an' there ain't no + good horses, that is, stake horses, in the race. I'll put Redpath up on + him, an' you might have a talk with the boy, if you like. You're onto + Lauzanne's notions better'n I am.” + </p> + <p> + Allis gave Jockey Redpath the benefit of her knowledge of Lauzanne's + peculiarities. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid he won't take kindly to you,” she said, regretfully; “he's as + notional as most of his sire's line. But if he won't try he won't, and the + more you fight him the sulkier he'll get. I wish I could ride him myself,” + she added, playfully; then fearing that she had hurt the boy's feelings by + discounting his ability, added, hastily: “I'm afraid I've spoiled + Lauzanne; he has taken a liking to me, and I've learned how to make him + think he's having his own way when he's really doing just what I want him + to do.” + </p> + <p> + Redpath's admiration for Allis Porter was limited to his admiration for + her as a young lady. Being young, and a jockey, he naturally had notions; + and a very prominent, all-absorbing notion was that he could manage his + mount in a race much better than most boys. Constrained to silent + acquiescence by respect for Allis, he assured himself, mentally, that, in + the race his experience and readiness of judgment would render him far + better service than orders—perhaps prompted by a sentimental regard + for Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + The Chestnut was a slow beginner; that was a trait which even Allis's + seductive handling had failed to eradicate. + </p> + <p> + When the starter sent Lauzanne off trailing behind the other seven runners + in the race that afternoon, Redpath made a faint essay, experimentally, to + hold to Allis's orders, by patiently nestling over the Chestnut's strong + withers in a vain hope that his mount would speedily seek to overtake the + leaders. But evidently Lauzanne had no such intention; he seemed quite + satisfied with things as they were. That the horses galloping so + frantically in front interested him slightly was evidenced by his cocked + ears; but beyond that he might as well have been the starter's hack + bringing that gentleman along placidly in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I thought,” muttered the boy; “this skate's kiddin' me just as he + does the gal. He's a lazy brute—it's the bud he wants.” + </p> + <p> + Convinced that he was right, and that his orders were all wrong, the + jockey asserted himself. He proceeded to ride Lauzanne most energetically. + </p> + <p> + In the horse's mind this sort of thing was associated with unlimited + punishment. It had always been that way in his two-year-old days; first, + the general hustle—small legs and arms working with concentric + swing; then the impatient admonishment of fierce-jabbing spurs; and + finally the welt-raising cut of a vicious, unreasoning whip. It was not a + pleasurable prospect; and at the first shake-up, Lauzanne pictured it + coming. All thoughts of overtaking the horses in front fled from his mind; + it was the dreaded punishment that interested him most; figuratively, he + humped his back against the anticipated onslaught. + </p> + <p> + Redpath felt the unmistakable sign of his horse sulking; and he promptly + had recourse to the jockey's usual argument. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in the stand Allis saw, with a cry of dismay, Redpath's whip-hand + go up. That Lauzanne had been trailing six lengths behind the others had + not bothered her in the slightest—it was his true method; his work + would be done in the stretch when the others were tiring, if at all. + </p> + <p> + “If the boy will only sit still—only have patience,” she had been + saying to herself, just before she saw the flash of a whip in the + sunlight; and then she just moaned. “It's all over; we are beaten again. + Everything is against us—everybody is against us,” she cried, + bitterly; “will good fortune never come father's way?” + </p> + <p> + By the time the horses had swung into the stretch, and Lauzanne had not in + the slightest improved his position, it dawned upon Redpath that his + efforts were productive of no good, so he desisted. But his move had cost + the Porters whatever chance they might have had. Left to himself, Lauzanne + undertook an investigating gallop on his own account. Too much ground had + been lost to be made up at that late stage, but he came up the straight in + gallant style, wearing down the leaders until he finished close up among + the unplaced horses. + </p> + <p> + Allis allowed no word of reproach to escape her when Redpath spoke of + Lauzanne's sulky temper. It would do no good—it would be like crying + over spilt milk. The boy was to ride Lucretia in the Derby; he was on good + terms with the mare; and to chide him for the ride on Lauzanne would but + destroy his confidence in himself for the other race. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid the Chestnut's a bad actor,” Dixon said to Allis, after the + race. “We'll never do no good with him. If he couldn't beat that lot he's + not worth his feed bill.” + </p> + <p> + “He would have won had I been on his back,” declared the girl, loyally. + </p> + <p> + “That's no good, Miss; you can't ride him, you see. We've just got one peg + to hang our hat on—that's Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + Lauzanne's showing in this race was a great disappointment to Allis; she + had hoped that his confidence in humanity had been restored. Physically he + had undoubtedly improved; his legs had hardened and smoothed down. In + fact, his whole condition was perfect. + </p> + <p> + She still felt that if Redpath had followed her advice and allowed + Lauzanne to run his own race he would have won. The race did not shake her + confidence in the horse so much as in the possibility of getting any + jockey to ride him in a quiescent manner. When it was impossible of + Redpath, who was eager to please her, whom else could they look to? They + might experiment, but while they were experimenting Lauzanne would be + driven back into his old bad habits. + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought them fresh disaster; all that had gone before was + as nothing compared with this new development in their run of thwarted + endeavor. + </p> + <p> + Ned Carter had given Lucretia a vigorous exercise gallop over the Derby + course. As Dixon led the mare through the paddock to a stall he suddenly + bent down his head and took a sharp look at her nostrils; another stride + and they were in the stall. The Trainer felt Lucretia's throat and ears; + he put his hand over her heart, a look of anxious dismay on his usually + stolid face. + </p> + <p> + “She coughed a little, sir, when I pulled her up,” volunteered Carter, + seeing Dixon's investigation. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid she's took cold,” muttered Dixon. “Have you had her near any + horses that's got the influenza?” he asked, looking inquiringly at Carter. + </p> + <p> + “She ain't been near nothing; I kept her away from everything, for fear + she'd get a kick, or get run into.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to God it's nothin',” said the Trainer; and his voice was quite + different from his usual rough tone. Then a sudden suspicion took + possession of him. Faust's readiness to lay long odds against the mare had + haunted him like a foolish nightmare. Had there been foul play? The mare + couldn't have taken a cold—they had been so careful of her; there + had been no rain for ten days; she hadn't got wet. No, it couldn't be + cold. But she undoubtedly had fever. A sickening conviction came that it + was the dreaded influenza. + </p> + <p> + That morning was the first time she had coughed, so Faust could not have + known of her approaching illness, unless he had been the cause of it. + </p> + <p> + The Trainer pursued his investigation among the stable lads. When he asked + Finn if he had noticed anything unusual about the mare, the boy declared + most emphatically that he had not. Then, suddenly remembering an incident + he had taken at the time to be of little import, he said: “Two mornin's + ago when I opened her stall and she poked her head out, I noticed a little + scum in her nose; but I thought it was dust. I wiped it out, and there was + nuthin' more come that I could see.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the row?” asked Mike Gaynor, as he joined Dixon. + </p> + <p> + When the details were explained to him Mike declared, emphatically, that + some one had got at the mare. Taking Dixon to one side, he said: “It's + that divil on wheels, Shandy; ye can bet yer sweet loife on that. I've + been layin' for that crook; he cut Diablo's bridle an' t'rew th' ould man; + an' he done this job, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But how could he get at her?” queried the Trainer. “The stable's been + locked; an' Finn and Carter was sleepin' in the saddle room.” + </p> + <p> + “That divil could go where a sparrer could. How did he git in to cut th' + bridle rein—t'rough a manure window no bigger'n your hat. He done + that, as I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if the mare's got it we're in the soup. Have you seen Miss Porter + about, Mike?” + </p> + <p> + “I did a minute ago; I'll pass the word ye want to see her—here she + comes now. I'll skip. Damn if I want to see them gray eyes when ye tell + about the little mare. It'll just break her heart; that's what it'll do. + An' maybe I wouldn't break the back av the devil as put up this dirty job. + It isn't Shandy that's as much to blame as the blackguard that worked + him.” + </p> + <p> + Dixon ran over in his mind many contorted ways of breaking the news to + Allis, and finished up by blurting out: “The mare's coughin' this mornin', + Miss; I hope it ain't nothin', but I'm afraid she's in for a sick spell.” + </p> + <p> + Coming to the course, the girl had allowed rosy hope to tint the gray + gloom of the many defeats until she had worked herself into a happy mood. + Lucretia's win would put everything right; even her father, relieved of + financial worry, would improve. The bright morning seemed to whisper of + victory; Lucretia would surely win. It was not within the laws of fate + that they should go on forever and ever having bad luck. She had come to + have a reassuring look at the grand little mare that was to turn the tide + of all their evil fortune. The Trainer's words, “The mare's coughin',” + struck a chill to her heart. She could not speak—the misery was too + great—but stood dejectedly listening while Dixon spoke of his + suspicions of foul play. + </p> + <p> + What villains there were in the world, the girl thought; for a man to lay + them odds against their horse, knowing that she had been poisoned, was a + hundred times worse than stealing the money from their Dockets. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose we'll ever be able to prove it,” declared Dixon, + regretfully; “but that doesn't matter so much as the mare being done for; + we're out of it now good and strong. If we'd known it two days ago we + might a-saved the money, but we've burned up a thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have to start Lauzanne,” said Allis, taking a brave pull at + herself, and speaking with decision. + </p> + <p> + “We might send him to the post, but that's all the good it'll do us, I'm + feared.” + </p> + <p> + “I've seen him do a great gallop,” contended Allis. + </p> + <p> + “He did it for you, but he won't do it for nobody else. There ain't no boy + ridin' can make him go fast enough for a live funeral. But we'll start + him, an' I'll speak to Redpath about takin' the mount.” + </p> + <p> + Allis was thinking very fast; her head, with its great wealth of black + hair, drooped low in heavy meditation. + </p> + <p> + “Don't engage him just yet, Dixon,” she said, looking up suddenly, the + shadow of a new resolve in her gray eyes; “I'll talk it over with you when + we go back to the house. I'm thinking of something, but I don't want to + speak of it just now—let me think it over a little.” + </p> + <p> + Dixon was deep in thought, too, as he went back to his own stables. “We + haven't got a million to one chance,” he was muttering; “the money's + burned up, an' the race is dead to the world, as far as we're concerned.” + </p> + <p> + That Allis could evolve any plan to lift them out of their Slough of + Despond he felt was quite impossible; but at any rate he got a distinct + shock when, a little later, a slight-formed girl, with gray eyes, set + large and full in a dark face, declared to him that she was going to ride + Lauzanne in the Derby herself. + </p> + <p> + “My God, Miss!” the Trainer exclaimed, “you can't do it. What would people + say—what would your mother say?” + </p> + <p> + “People will say the race was well ridden if I'm any judge, and mother + won't be interested enough to know whether Lucretia was hitched to a buggy + in the Derby or not.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Judge would never allow a girl—” + </p> + <p> + “There'll be no girl in it;”. and Allis explained, in minute detail the + result of her deep cogitation. + </p> + <p> + “It won't work; you never could do it,” objected Dixon, with despondent + conviction. “That big head of hair would give you dead away.” + </p> + <p> + “The head of hair won't be in evidence; it will be lying in my trunk, + waiting to be made up into a wig after we've won.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; it won't do,” the Trainer reiterated; “everybody'd know you, an' + there'd be a fine shindy. I believe you could ride the horse right enough, + an' if he has a chance on earth you'd get it out of him. But give up the + idea, everybody'd know you.” + </p> + <p> + The girl pleaded, but Dixon was obdurate. He did not contend for an + instant that she was not capable of riding the horse,—only in a race + with many jockeys she would find it different from riding a trial gallop,—but + his main objection was that she'd be known. Allis closed the discussion by + saying that she was going home to encourage her father a little over the + mare's defeat in the Handicap, and made Dixon promise not to engage + Redpath for Lauzanne till her return next morning. + </p> + <p> + “He can't take another mount,” she said, “because he's retained for + Lucretia, and we haven't declared her out yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm hopin' we may not have to,” remarked Dixon. “Anyway, there's no hurry + about switchin' the boy onto Lauzanne, so we'll settle that when you come + back.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX + </h2> + <p> + Allis's visit to Ringwood was a flying one. Filial devotion to her father + had been one motive, but not the only one. Her brother Alan's wardrobe + received a visitation from hands not too well acquainted with the + intricacies of its make-up. + </p> + <p> + John Porter was undoubtedly brightened by the daughter's visit. Lucretia's + defeat in the Handicap had increased his despondency. To prepare him + gradually for further reverses Allis intimated, rather than asserted, that + Lucretia might possibly have a slight cold—Digon wasn't sure; but + they were going to run Lauzanne also. Like the Trainer, her father had but + a very poor opinion of the Chestnut's powers in any other hands but in + that of the girl's. + </p> + <p> + “Who'll ride him?” he asked, petulantly. “It seems you can't trust any of + the boys now-a-days. If they're not pin-headed, they're crooked as a + corkscrew. Crane tells me that Redpath didn't ride Lucretia out in the + Handicap, and whether he rides the mare or Lauzanne it seems all one—we'll + get beat anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Another boy will have the mount on Lauzanne,” Allis answered. + </p> + <p> + “What difference will that make? You can't trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “You can trust this boy, father, as you might your own son, Alan.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about that. Alan in the bank is all right, but Alan as a + jockey would be a different thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, you would trust me, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I would, in the tightest corner ever was chiseled out.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can trust the jockey that's going to ride Lauzanne just as + much. I know him, and he's all right. He's been riding Lauzanne some, and + the horse likes him.” + </p> + <p> + “It's all Lauzanne,” objected Porter, the discussion having thrown him + into a petulant mood. “Is Lucretia that bad—is she sick?” + </p> + <p> + “She galloped to-day,” answered the girl, evasively. “But if anything + happens her we're going to win with the horse. Just think of that, father, + and cheer up. Dixon has backed the stable to win a lot of money, enough + to-enough to—well, to wipe out all these little things that are + bothering you, dad.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned over and kissed her father in a hopeful, pretty way. The + contact of her brave lips drove a magnetic flow of confidence into the + man. “You're a brick, little woman, if ever there was one. Just a tiny + bunch of pluck, ain't you, girl? And, Allis,” he continued, “if you don't + win the Derby, come and tell me about it yourself, won't you? You're sure + to have some other scheme for bracing me up. I'm just a worthless hulk, + sitting here in the house a cripple while you fight the battles. Perhaps + Providence, as your mother says, will see you through your hard task.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't come and tell you that we've lost, dad; I'll come and tell you + that we've won; and then we'll all have the biggest kind of a blow-out + right here in the house. We'll have a champagne supper, with cider for + champagne, eh, dad? Alan, and Dixon, and old Mike, and perhaps we'll even + bring Lauzanne in for the nuts and raisins at desert.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Rev. Dolman,—you've left him out,” added the father. + </p> + <p> + They were both laughing. Just a tiny little ray of sunshine had dispelled + all the gloom for a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Now I must go back to my horses,” declared Allis, with another kiss. + “Good-bye, dad—cheer up;” and as she went up to her room the smile + of hope vanished from her lips, and in its place came one of firm, dogged + resolve. Allis needed much determination before she had accomplished the + task she had set herself—before she stood in front of a mirror, + arrayed in the purple and fine linen of her brother. She had thought Alan + small, and he was for a boy, but his clothes bore a terribly suggestive + impression of misfit—they hung loose. + </p> + <p> + Mentally thanking the fashion which condoned it, she turned the trousers + up at the bottom. “I'll use my scissors and needle on them to-night,” she + said, ruthlessly. Thank goodness, the jockeys are all little chaps, and + the racing clothes will fit better. + </p> + <p> + The coat was of summer wear, therefore somewhat close-fitting for Alan; + but why did it hang so loosely on her? She was sure her brother was not so + much bigger. A little thought given to this question of foreign apparel + brought a possible solution. The undergarments she had tumbled about in + her search were much heavier than her own. Her crusade had its side of + comedy; she chuckled as, muttering, “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she + reincarnated herself completely, so far as outward adornment was + concerned. Then she examined herself critically in the glass. The mirror + declared she was a passable counterfeit of her brother; all but the + glorious crown of luxuriant hair. Perhaps she had better leave it as it + was until she had met with the approval of Dixon—the terrible + sacrifice might be for nothing. She wavered only for an instant—no + half measure would do. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” The slightest + weakness in carrying out her bold plan might cause it to fail. + </p> + <p> + Twice she took up a pair of scissors, and each time laid them down again, + wondering if it were little short of a madcap freak; then, shrinking from + the grinding hiss of the cutting blades, she clipped with feverish haste + the hair that had been her pride. It was a difficult task, and but a rough + job at best when finished, but the change in her appearance was marvelous; + the metamorphosis, so successful, almost drowned the lingering regret. She + drew a cap over her shorn head, packed her own garments and a few of her + brother's in a large bag, buttoned her newmarket coat tight up to her + throat, and once more surveyed herself in the glass. From head to foot she + was ready. Ah, the truthful glass betrayed the weak point in her armor—the + boots. In an instant she had exchanged them for a pair of Alan's. Now she + was ready to pass her mother as Allis in her own long cloak, and appear + before Dixon without it as a boy. That was her clever little scheme. + </p> + <p> + Before going up to her room she had asked that the stableman might be at + the door with a buggy when she came down, to take her to the station. When + she descended he was waiting. + </p> + <p> + “I'm taking some clothes back with me, mother,” she said. “Let Thomas + bring the bag down, please.” + </p> + <p> + “You're getting dreadfully mannish in your appearance, daughter; it's that + cap.” + </p> + <p> + “I have to wear something like this about in the open;” answered Allis. + </p> + <p> + “But for traveling, girl, it seems out of place. Let me put a hat on you. + I declare I thought it was Alan when you came into the room.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't wait; this will do. I must be off to catch my train. Goodbye, + mother; wish me good luck,” and she hurried out and took her seat in the + buggy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI + </h2> + <p> + Some hours later Dixon, sitting in his cottage, oppressed by the + misfortune that had come to his stable, heard a knock at the door. When he + opened it a neatly dressed, slim youth stepped into the uncertain light + that stretched out reluctantly from a rather unfit lamp on the center + table. + </p> + <p> + “Is this Mr. Dixon?” the boy's voice piped modestly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, lad, it is. Will you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + The boy removed his cap, took the proffered chair, and said somewhat + hesitatingly, “I heard you wanted a riding boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do, an' I don't. I don't know as I said I did, but,”—and he + scanned the little figure closely, “if I could get a decent lightweight + that hadn't the hands of a blacksmith, an' the morals of a burglar, I + might give him a trial. Did you ever do any ridin'—what stable was + you in?” + </p> + <p> + “I've rode a good deal,” answered the little visitor, ignoring the second + half of the question. + </p> + <p> + “What's your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mayne.” + </p> + <p> + “Main what?” + </p> + <p> + “Al Mayne,” the other replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, s'posin' you show up at the course paddocks to-morrow mornin' + early, an' I'll see you shape on a horse. D'you live about here—can + you bring your father, so if I like your style we can have things fixed + proper?” + </p> + <p> + The boy's face appealed to Dixon as being an honest one. Evidently the lad + was not a street gamin, a tough. If he had hands—the head promised + well—and could sit a horse, he might be a find. A good boy was rarer + than a good horse, and of more actual value. + </p> + <p> + “I guess I'll stay here to-night so as to be ready for the mornin',” said + the caller, to Dixon's astonishment; and then the little fellow broke into + a silvery laugh. + </p> + <p> + “By Jimminy! If it isn't—well, I give in, Miss Allis, you fooled + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I ride Lauzanne now?” the girl asked, and her voice choked a little—it + might have been the nervous excitement, or thankfulness at the success of + her plan in this its first stage. + </p> + <p> + “Do they know at home?” the Trainer asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, nobody is to know but you, Mr. Dixon—you and Mrs. Dixon.” + </p> + <p> + This suggested a thought to the Trainer. “The good wife's at work in the + kitchen; I'll bring her in. Perhaps she'd like to hire a help,” and he + chuckled as he opened a door and called, “Come here for a minute. This is + a boy”—he turned his head away—“I'm takin' on for Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mrs. Dixon. Then, with severe politeness, “Good evenin', young + man.” + </p> + <p> + The two figures in male attire broke into a laugh simultaneously. The good + lady, oblivious to the humorous side of her greeting, flushed in anger. + “Appears to be mighty funny,” she said. “What's the joke?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nuthin',” replied the husband, speaking hastily. “Can you give the + lad a bed? He wants to bunk here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Andy, you know I can't. There's only Miss Allis's room.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her—him that.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you crazy, Andy?” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad, Mrs. Dixon; I sha'n't let your husband tease you any more. + I am Allis; but I'm glad you didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Allis, where's your beautiful hair gone? Surely you didn't cut + that off just for a joke?” + </p> + <p> + Then she was taken fully into their confidence; and before Allis retired + Dixon had been quite won over to the plan of Allis's endeavor. + </p> + <p> + In the morning the Trainer asked the girl whether she would ride Lauzanne + a working gallop to get accustomed to the new order of things, or would + she just wait until race day and take her place in the saddle then. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid Mike'll spot you,” he said—“even Carter may.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ride to-day,” declared Allis; “I musn't take any chances of losing + this race through my inexperience. Even Lauzanne will hardly know me, I'm + afraid. Mike and Carter needn't see much of me—I can slip away as + soon as I've ridden the gallop.” + </p> + <p> + “Here's a boy's sweater, then,” said Dixon; “the collar'll half hide your + face. I'll get a pair of ridin' breeches an' boots for you by tomorrow. + The little mare's in for it sure,” he added; “her legs are swellin', an' + she's off her feed—just nibbles at a carrot. I feel as bad as if it + was a child that was sick, she's that gentle. She can't start, an' I'll + just tell Redpath that he can take another mount if he gets it. You're + still bound to ride the Chestnut?” he asked, by way of assurance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll get five pounds off the weight for 'prentice allowance—that's + somethin'. I'll arrange about a permit for you. What did you say your name + was, mister?” + </p> + <p> + “Al Mayne, please, sir,” this in the humble tone of a stable-boy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss—Al, I mean—you can carry Lauzanne around the + course at nine o'clock sharp; then you'd better come back here an' rest up + all day—lay low.” + </p> + <p> + “A new boy, I'm tryin',” Dixon explained to Gaynor, after he lifted a + little lad to Lauzanne's back at the paddock gate, and they stood watching + the big Chestnut swing along with his usual sluggish stride. + </p> + <p> + “He's got good hands,” said Mike, critically, “though he seems a bit + awkward in the saddle. Ye couldn't have a better trial horse fer a new + b'y. If Lauzanne's satisfied with him he can roide onythin'.” + </p> + <p> + When Allis, who was now Al Mayne, the boy, came around and back to the + paddock, she slipped quietly from the horse, loitered carelessly about for + a few minutes, and then made her way back to Dixon's quarters. Nobody had + paid any attention to the modest little boy. Riding lads were as plentiful + as sparrows; one more or less called for no comment, no investigation. + Even Mike lost interest in the new boy in wondering why Miss Allis had not + made her usual appearance. + </p> + <p> + “How did the horse like it?” Dixon asked of the girl when he returned + home. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he knew. I whispered in his ear as we cantered along, and he'll be + all right—he'll keep my secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think he's due for a pipe opener to-morrow. It's just three days + till the Derby, an' we've got to give him a strong workout. Besides, it'll + put you next what you've got to do in the race. To-morrow mornin' you had + better canter him just slow around once, an' then send him a full + mile-an'-aquarter as though there was money hung up for it. I'll catch his + time, an' we'll get wise to what he can do.” + </p> + <p> + This programme was carried out; and as Dixon looked thrice at his watch + after the gallop to make sure that he was not mistaken in the time, 2:11, + he began to wonder if, after all, the girl was not nearly right in her + prophetic hope that the despised Lauzanne would win the Brooklyn Derby. + </p> + <p> + “He can move; he surprised me,” the Trainer said to Allis as she + dismounted. “He's not blown, either; he's as fresh as a daisy. Gad! we'll + do those blackguards up yet, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The gallop had attracted Mike's attention also. As Allis moved away he + called after her, “I say, b'y, hould on a minute. What's yer name, + ennyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Al,” answered the small voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by me faith, ye didn't put up no bad roide. Ye handled that horse + foine. Don't run away, lad,” he added, hurrying after the retreating + Allis. + </p> + <p> + Before she could escape him, he had her by the arm, and turned about face + to face. Even then he didn't recognize her, for Allis had taken a most + subtle precaution in her make-up. The delicate olive of her cheeks was + hidden under a more than liberal allowance of good agricultural + cosmetique. It had been well rubbed in, too, made of a plastic adherence + by the addition of mucilage. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, what a doirty face!” exclaimed Mike. “But ye kin ride, b'y; so dirt + don't count; clean ridin's the thing.” + </p> + <p> + If Allis hadn't laughed in his face, being full of the happiness of hope, + Mike would not have recognized her—even then he didn't hit it off + quite right. + </p> + <p> + “Alan Porter!” he gasped. “Bot' t'umbs up! Is it ye, b'y?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” and a small warning finger was held up. + </p> + <p> + “Don't fear, b'y, that I'll give it away. Mum's the word wit' me. But I'm + dahmned if I t'ought ye could roide like that. It's jus' in the breed, + that's what it is; ye take to it as natural as ducks—” Mike had a + habit of springing half-finished sentences on his friends. “Yer father + could roide afore ye; none better, an' Miss Allis can sit a horse foiner + nor any b'y as isn't a top-notcher. But this beats me, t'umbs up, if it + doesn't. I onderstand,” he continued, as Allis showed an inclination to + travel, “ye don't want the push to get on to ye. They won't, nayther—what + did ye say yer name was, sonny?” + </p> + <p> + “Al Mayne.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye'r a good b'y, Al. I hope Dixon lets ye roide the Chestnut in the + Derby. I'd give wan av me legs—an' I needs 'em bot'—to see ye + beat out that gang av highway robbers that got at the mare. They'll not + git at the Chestnut, for I'll slape in the stall me self.” + </p> + <p> + As Allis moved away, Mike stood watching the neat figure. + </p> + <p> + “That's the game, eh?” he muttered to himself; “the gal don't trust + Redpath no more'n I do; palaver don't cut no ice wit' her. The b'y didn't + finish on Lucretia, an' that's all there is to it. But how's Alan goin' to + turn the trick in a big field of rough ridin' b'ys? If it was the gurl + herself” a sudden brilliant idea threw its strong light through Mike's + brain pan. He took a dozen quick shuffling steps after Allis, then stopped + as suddenly as he had started. “Mother a' Moses! but I believe it's the + gurl; that's why the Chestnut galloped as if he had her on his back. + Jasus! he had. Ph-e-e-w-w!” he whistled, a look of intense admiration + sweeping over his leather-like face. “Bot' t'umbs! if that isn't pluck. + There isn't a soul but meself'll git ontil it, an' she all but fooled me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII + </h2> + <p> + The news that Lucretia was sick had got about. The Porter's stable + traveled out in the betting for the Brooklyn Derby until a backer—if + there had been one—could have written his own price, and got it. + </p> + <p> + Langdon had informed Crane of this change in their favor, though he said + nothing about the deal with Shandy which had brought about the poisoning + of the mare. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry that Porter's mare has gone wrong,” Crane said. “I think we + would have won anyway, but it'll just about ruin them.” + </p> + <p> + Figuratively, Langdon closed one eye and winked to himself. Crane must + know that it was his implied desires that had led up to the stopping of + Lucretia. Langdon thought Crane just about the most complete hypocrite + he'd ever met; that preacher face of his could look honorably pious while + its owner raked in a cool forty thousand over the Trainer's dirty work. + However, that cut no figure, it was his ten thousand dollars Langdon was + after. + </p> + <p> + Just as they thought they had destroyed the chances of their strongest + opponent, came a new disturbing feature. Other eyes than Dixon's has seen + Lauzanne's strong gallop; other watchers than his had ticked of the + extraordinary good time, 2:11 for the mile and a quarter, with the horse + seemingly running well within himself, never urged a foot of the journey, + and finishing strong, was certainly almost good enough to warrant his + winning. + </p> + <p> + This information had been brought to Langdon, but he also had observed the + gallop. And the same boy was to ride Lauzanne in the race, he understood, + for Redpath had been released, and was looking for another mount. It + wasn't in the natural order of things that one small stable would have in + it two horses good enough to win the Derby, especially when one of them + was a cast-off; but there was the gallop; time, like figures, didn't lie, + not often; and as he thought of it Langdon admitted that he had never seen + such an improvement in a horse as had been made in Lauzanne. Shandy had + told him that it was Miss Porter's doing, that she had cured him of his + sulky moods; the gallop Langdon had witnessed seemed to bear out the truth + of this. What was he to do? They couldn't repeat the trick they had played + on Lucretia. The Dutchman might win; he had worked the full Derby + distance, a mile and a half, in 2:45, nearly all out at the finish. + Lauzanne's gallop was only a mile and a quarter; he might not be able to + stay the additional quarter. But there was ten thousand dollars at stake—for + Langdon. He sought to discover the identity of Lauzanne's rider; but + nobody knew him—Dixon had picked him up somewhere. Perhaps he could + be got at; that would simplify matters greatly. + </p> + <p> + The morning after her fast work on Lauzanne, Allis, draped as she was into + the personification of Al Mayne, arrived at the course before their + horses. As she was leaning over the paddock rail waiting for Lauzanne to + come, Langdon, who had evidently determined upon a course of action, + sauntered up carelessly to the girl and commenced to talk. After a free + preliminary observation he said, “You're the boy that's ridin' for Andy + Dixon, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + The small figure nodded its head. + </p> + <p> + “I seen you gallop that Chestnut yesterday. Where you been ridin—you're + a stranger here, I reckon?” + </p> + <p> + “Out West,” answered Allis, at a hazard. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, San Francisco, eh? Are you engaged to Dixon?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm just on trial.” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to ride the Chestnut in the race?” + </p> + <p> + Again the boy nodded; under the circumstances it wasn't wise to trust too + much to speech. + </p> + <p> + “He ain't no good—he's a bad horse. I guess I've got the winner of + that race in my stable. If he wins, I'd like to sign you for a year. I + like the way you ride. I ain't got no good lightweight. I might give you a + thousand for a contract, an' losin' and winnin' mounts when you had a leg + up. How do you like ridin' for Dixon?” he continued, the little chap not + answering his observations. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't goin' to ride no more for him after this race,” answered the + other, quite truthfully enough, but possessed of a curiosity to discover + the extent of the other's villainy. + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame you. He's no good; he don't never give his boys a chance. + If you win on the Chestnut, like as not they'll just give you the winnin' + mount. That ain't no good to a boy. They ain't got no money, that's why. + The owner of my candidate, The Dutchman, he's a rich man, an' won't think + nothin' of givin' a retainer of a thousand if we won this race. That'll + mean The Dutchman's a good horse, and we'll want a good light boy to ride + him, see?” + </p> + <p> + Allis did see. Langdon was diplomatically giving her as A1 Mayne to + understand that if she threw the race on Lauzanne, she would get a place + in their stable at a retainer of a thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + “We can afford it if we win the race,” he continued, “for we stand a big + stake. Come and see me any time you like to talk this over.” + </p> + <p> + After he had gone, just as Allis was leaving the rail, she was again + accosted; this time by Shandy. She trembled an instant, fearing that the + small red-lidded ferret eyes would discover her identity. But the boy was + too intent on trying to secure his ill-earned five hundred dollars to + think of anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Good mornin', boy,” he said, cheerily. “I used to be in Dixon's stable. + It's hell; and he's a swipe. I see my boss talkin' to you just now. Did he + put you next a good thing?” + </p> + <p> + Allis nodded her head, knowingly. + </p> + <p> + “He's all right. So's the other one—the guy as has got the mun; he's + got a bank full of it. I'm on to him; his name's Crane—” + </p> + <p> + Allis started. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know him,” continued the imp; “he's too slick to go messin' + about. But if the old man promised you anything, see, God blast me, you'll + git it. Not like that other skin-flint hole where you don't git nothin'. I + stand in five hundred if our horse wins the Derby.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ride him?” asked Al Mayne. + </p> + <p> + “Ride nothin'. I don't have to. I've did my job already.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe they'll give you five hundred for nothin',” said Allis, + doubtingly, knowing that the boy's obstinate nature, if he were crossed, + would probably drive him into further explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Say, you're a stiff. What'd the ole man want you to do—pull + Lauzanne?” + </p> + <p> + Allis nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I knowed it. What was the use of stoppin' the mare an' let the Chestnut + spoil the job?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that what you get the five hundred for?” asked Allis, a sudden + suspicion forcing itself upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Say, what d' you take me fer, a flat car? But she's sick, ain't she? An' + you jes' take care of the Chestnut now, an' I'll give you a hundred out of + my five, God bli' me if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke Shandy looked hastily about to see that no one was listening, + then he continued: “If you give me the double cross an' peach, I'll split + yer head open.” His small eyes blazed with venomous fury. “Besides, it + won't do no good, my word's as good as yours. But I'll give you the + hundred, s'help me God! I will, if you don't ride the Chestnut out. Mum's + the word,” he added, bolting suddenly, for Dixon had entered the paddock + with his horses. + </p> + <p> + With the horses also came Mike Gaynor. While their blankets were being + taken off and saddles adjusted, he came over to Allis. There was a + suppressed twinkle of subverted knowledge in his weatherbeaten eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Good mornin', Al,” he said, nodding in a very dignified manner, and + putting a strong accent on the name. + </p> + <p> + Now Mike had determined to keep from the girl the fact that he had + penetrated her disguise. With proper Irish gallantry, crude as it might be + in its expression, but delicate enough in its motive, he reasoned that his + knowledge might make her uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I see that fly-by-night divil Shandy talkin' to ye as I come in. What new + mischief is he up to now?” + </p> + <p> + “He wants me to pull Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “He ain't got no gall, has he? That come from headquarters; it's Langdon + put him up to that.” + </p> + <p> + “He was talkin' to me, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I t'ought he would be. But he didn't know ye, Miss Allis—” + </p> + <p> + Heavens! It was out. Mike's sun-tanned face turned brick-red; he could + have bitten off his unruly Irish tongue. The girl stared at him + helplessly, her cheeks, that were scarlet, tingling under the hot rush of + blood. + </p> + <p> + “There ye are, an' believe me, I didn't mean it. I was goin' to keep me + mouth shut, but I never could do that.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew then, yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Indade I didn't, an' that's a good sign to ye nobody'll know. But whin I + t'ought wit' meself I knowed that Alan couldn't ride Lauzanne the way ye + did; an' ye didn't deny ye was him, an' if ye wasn't him ye must be + yerself, see?” which more or less lucid explanation seemed to relieve + Mike's mind mightily. “I think ye're Jes doin' roight, Miss—Al, I + mean; I must get used to that name; s'help me, I believe ye'll win on the + Chestnut—that gallop was good enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I can do it, Mike, among all those jockeys?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing, ye can, A—Al, me b'y; he won't need no ridin' in yer + hands; all ye'll have to do is sit still an' keep him straight. He'll win + the race in the stretch, an' there won't be many there to bother—they'll + all be beat off. Now, it's a good thing that I do know about this, for + I'll just kape close to ye an' kape any wan that's likely to spot ye away, + if I have to knock him down.” + </p> + <p> + Mike had worked himself up to a fine frenzy of projected endeavor; he cast + about for further services he could render his admired mistress. + </p> + <p> + “An' ye know Carson the starter; he's jes the loveliest Irishman; there + isn't a b'y on earth could git an inch the best av it from him on a start, + not if they was to give him gold enough to weigh a horse down. But I'll + jes' tip him the wink that ye'r a gurl, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Mike, what are you saying? Do you mean to ruin everything?” + </p> + <p> + The rosy hue of eager joyousness that had crept into Gaynor's suntanned + face vanished; his jaw drooped, and a pathetic look of sheepish apology + followed. + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” he ejaculated, mournfully; “bot' tumbs up! but it's a pity. + Carson's an Irish gintleman, an' if I could till him ye was a gurl, he'd + knock the head plumb off any b'y that 'ud bother ye. Ye'd git away well, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Then the girl told Mike all that Shandy and Langdon had said. It only + confirmed Mike's opinion that between them they had poisoned Lucretia. He + felt that with a little more evidence he would be able to prove both + crimes—the one with Diablo and the one with Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + The Brooklyn Derby was to be run the next day. Allis was glad that it was + so near; she dreaded discovery. She was like a hunted hare, dodging + everyone she fancied might discover her identity. She would have to run + the gauntlet of many eyes while weighing for the race, and at the time of + going out; even when she returned, especially if she won. But in the + excitement over the race, people would not have time to devote to a + strange jockey's visage. She could quite smear her face with dirt, for + that seemed a natural condition where boys were riding perhaps several + races in one afternoon. The jockey cap with its big peak well pulled down + over her head would add materially to her disguise. Mike would fetch and + carry for her, so that she would be in evidence for very few minutes at + most. Dixon even, opposed to the idea as he had been at first, now assured + her quite confidently that nobody would make her out. + </p> + <p> + “It's the horses they look at,” he said, “and the colors. An apprentice + boy doesn't cut much ice, I can tell you. Why, I've been racin' for + years,” he went on with the intent of giving her confidence, “an' many a + time I see a boy up on a horse that must have rode on the tracks over a + hundred times, an' I can't name him to save my neck.” + </p> + <p> + At any rate there was nothing more to do until she made the great + endeavor, until she went to the track at the time set for the Brooklyn + Derby, dressed in the blue jacket with the white stars of her father's + racing colors; that was the plan adopted. A buggy, with Mike driving, + would take her straight to the paddock quite in time for the race. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII + </h2> + <p> + After Crane left the money for Porter's note with Mortimer the latter took + the three one-thousand-dollar bills, pinned them to the note, placed them + in a cigar box and put the box away carefully in the bank safe, to remain + there until the 14th of June, when it became due. Incidentally Mortimer + mentioned this matter to Alan Porter. + </p> + <p> + Crane in writing to the cashier about other affairs of the bank touched + upon the subject of Porter's obligation, stating that he had left the + money with Mr. Mortimer to meet the note when it matured. + </p> + <p> + The day before the Derby, the 12th of the month, Alan asked his day's + leave and got it. The cashier more readily granted Alan's request, as + Crane had intimated in his letter that it would please him if the lad were + to have a holiday. + </p> + <p> + Alan went up to New York that evening. Earlier in the day he somewhat + hesitatingly confided to Mortimer that he had backed Lucretia when she was + well and looked to have a good chance to win her race; now she was + scratched, and his money was lost. Bearing in mind what Crane had said + about The Dutchman's chances of winning, even with Lucretia in the race, + he felt now that it appeared almost like a certainty for Crane's horse. If + he could have a bet on The Dutchman he would surely recoup his losses. + Alan explained all these racing matters very minutely and with great + earnestness to Mortimer, for the latter was quite unfamiliar with the + science of race gambling. Having stated his predicament and hoped-for + relief, as an excuse for so doing, he wound up by asking his companion for + a loan of two hundred dollars. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer had little less horror of betting and its evil influence than + Mrs. Porter, but under the circumstances he would perhaps have complied + with the boy's request had he been provided with sufficient funds. As it + was, he said: “I don't like the idea of lending you money to bet with, + Alan; your mother wouldn't thank me for doing so; besides, if you lost it + you'd feel uncomfortable owing me the money. At any rate, I haven't got + it. I couldn't lend you two hundred, or half of it. I suppose I haven't + got a hundred to my credit.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind then,” answered Alan, angrily, stiffening up, because of + Mortimer's lecture. + </p> + <p> + “I'll lend you what I've got.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want it. I can get it some other place.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better take—” + </p> + <p> + “Take nothing—I don't want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I'm sorry I can't oblige you. But take my advice and don't bet + at all; it'll only get you into trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks; I don't need your advice. I was a fool to ask you for the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Alan,” began Mortimer, in a coaxing tone. + </p> + <p> + “Please don't 'Alan' me any more. I can get along without your money and + without your friendship; I don't want either.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer remained silent. What was the use of angering the boy further? He + would come to see that he had meant it in good part, and would be all + right in a day or two. + </p> + <p> + During the rest of the day Alan preserved a surly distance of manner, + speaking to Mortimer only once—a constrained request for a bunch of + keys in the latter's possession which unlocked some private drawers in the + vault. + </p> + <p> + The next morning it suddenly occurred to Mortimer that Porter's note fell + due that day—either that day or the next, he wasn't sure. The + easiest way to settle the question was to look at the date on the note. + </p> + <p> + He stepped into the vault, took out the little cigar box, opened it, and + as he handled the crisp papers a sudden shock of horror ran through his + frame. One of the bills was gone; there were only two one-thousand-dollar + notes left. + </p> + <p> + The discovery paralyzed him for an instant. He was responsible; the money + had been left in his charge. Then he looked at the note; it matured the + next day. All the money had been in the box the morning before, for he had + looked at it. Only the cashier and Alan Porter knew that it was in the + vault. + </p> + <p> + The whole dreadful truth came clearly to Mortimer's mind with absolute + conviction. Alan, infatuated with the prospect of winning a large sum over + The Dutchman, and failing to borrow from him, had taken the money. + </p> + <p> + The gravity of the situation calmed Mortimer, and his mind worked with a + cool method that surprised him. Bit by bit he pieced it out. The boy, + inconsistently enough, had reasoned that the money was his father's, and + that he was only borrowing family property. No doubt he had felt sure of + winning, and that he would be back in time to replace the thousand before + it was needed. This sophistical reasoning had, without doubt, tempted the + lad to commit this—this—Mortimer felt a reluctance to bestow + the proper name upon Alan's act, but undoubtedly it was stealing. + </p> + <p> + And if the boy lost the money, what would happen? He couldn't repay it; + the shortage would be discovered and Allis's brother would be ruined, + branded as a 'thief. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer would willingly put the money back himself for Allis's sake; but + he hadn't it. What was he to do? If he could find Alan and force him to + give up the stolen money he could yet save the boy. But Alan had gone to + Gravesend. + </p> + <p> + Like an inspiration the thought came to Mortimer that he must go after him + and get the money before it was lost. He shoved the box back in its place, + and came out into the office. + </p> + <p> + It was half past ten by the clock. Luckily the cashier had not come yet. + Mortimer's mind worked rapidly. He must make some excuse and get away; + anything; he must even lie; if he saved the boy it would be justifiable. + Why did not the cashier come, now that he was ready for him? Each minute + seemed an age, with the honor of Allis's brother hanging in the balance. + He would need money. He drew a check for a hundred dollars. A hasty + inspection showed that he still had a trifle more than this amount to his + credit. Why he took a hundred he hardly knew; fate seemed writing the + check. He had barely finished when the cashier appeared. At once Mortimer + spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “I want leave of absence to-day, sir,” he said, speaking hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + The cashier frowned in astonishment. “Impossible We are short-handed with + young Porter away.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back in the morning,” pleaded Mortimer. “My mother is very ill. + I've opened up, and Mr. Cass can manage, I'm sure, if you'll let me go. I + wouldn't ask it, but it's a matter of almost life and death.” He had + nearly said of honor. + </p> + <p> + Unwillingly the cashier consented. It probably meant extra work for him; + he would certainly have to take a hand in the office routine. Theirs was + not a busy bank, and that day was not likely to be a very pressing one, + but still he would have to shoulder some of the labor. + </p> + <p> + Full of the terrible situation, Mortimer cared not who worked, so that he + got away in time to save Allis's brother from himself. At last he was + free. He almost ran to the station. + </p> + <p> + Looking from the window of the bank, the cashier seeing Mortimer's rapid + pace, muttered: “I guess the poor man's mother is pretty bad; I'm glad I + let him go. He's a good son to that mother of his.” + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock Mortimer got a train for New York. During the wait at + the station he had paced up and down the platform with nervous stride. A + dozen times he looked at his watch—would he be too late? He had no + idea how long it would take to reach Gravesend; he knew nothing of the + race track's location. As the train whirled him through Emerson, where his + mother lived, he could see the little drab cottage, and wondered + pathetically what the good woman would say if she knew her son was going + to a race meeting. At twelve he was in New York. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV + </h2> + <p> + Mortimer found that he could take an “L” train to the Bridge, and transfer + there to another taking him direct to the course. At the Bridge he was + thrust into a motley crowd, eager, expectant, full of joyous anticipation + of assured good luck. He was but a tiny unit of this many-voiced throng; + he drifted a speck on the bosom of the flood that poured into the waiting + race train. He was tossed into a seat by the swirling tide, and as the + train moved he looked at his fellow-passengers. There was a pleasant air + of opulence all about him. Gold chains of fair prominence, diamonds of + lustrous hue, decorated the always rotund figures. He fell to wondering + why the men were all of a gross physique; why did the ladies wear dresses + of such interminable variety of color; from whence came the money for this + plethora of rich apparel? + </p> + <p> + The race literature that had come Mortimer's way had generally dealt with + the unfortunate part of racing. Somehow he had got the impression that + everybody lost money at it. He was sure Alan Porter had, also the father. + </p> + <p> + True, on the train were some bearing undeniable evidences of poverty; but + not many. One man of this latter unfortunate aspect sat next him. His + whole appearance was suggestive of the shady side of life. With the + industry of a student he pored over a disheveled sporting paper for half + an hour, then throwing it under the seat he cast a furtive look at his + neighbor, and presently said, “Dere'll be big fields to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “That's too bad,” Mortimer answered, through ignorance, thinking that the + other referred to perhaps a considerable walk across country to reach the + course. + </p> + <p> + “I like it,” declared the man of sad drapery; “it means long odds if + you're next somethin' good.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer confined his remarks to a brief “Oh!” for the other man might as + well have been speaking Choctaw. + </p> + <p> + “Have you doped 'em out for de Derby?” asked the stranger. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer shook his head. Whatever it was it was connected with horse + racing, and he felt sure that he hadn't done it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you somethin'—will you put down a good bet if I + steer you straight?” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer was growing weary; his mind, troubled by the frightful disaster + that threatened Allis's family, wanted to draw within itself and ponder + deeply over a proper course of action; so he answered: “My dear sir, I'm + afraid you're mistaken. I never bet on races. But I thank you for your + kind offer.” + </p> + <p> + The unwashed face looked at him in blank amazement, then it wrinkled in a + mirthful laugh of derision. “What d' 'ell you goin' to Gravesend for, den? + Blamed if I don't believe you dough—you look it. Say, is dat + straight goods—did you never have a bet in your life?” + </p> + <p> + “Never did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm damned! Say, I believe you've got de best of it, dough. Wish + I'd never bucked ag'in' de bookies.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you stop it now, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Say, pard, do you drink?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Smoke?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + A hopeless air of utter defeat came into the thin, sharp face. Its owner + had been searching for a simile. He wanted to point a moral and he + couldn't find it. The young man at his elbow was too immaculate. He tried + to explain: “Racin's like any other locoed t'ing—it's like tobacco, + or drink, or stealin' money out of a bank—” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer shivered. He had felt a moral superiority in denying the implied + bad habits. + </p> + <p> + “It's like any of 'em,” continued the ragged philosopher; “a guy starts + simply as a kid, an' he gets de t'row-down. He takes a bracer at himself, + and swears he'll give it de go-by, but he can't—not on your life.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer had read much about confidence men, and half expected that his + self-imposed acquaintance would try to borrow money, but he was + disillusionized presently. + </p> + <p> + “But de ring ain't broke Ole Bill yet. I'll clean up a t'ousand to-day—say, + I like your mug; you ain't no stiff, or I miss my guess, an' I'll put you, + next a good t'ing, damme if I don't, an' you don't need to divvy up, + neither. Dere's a chestnut runnin' in de Derby what dey call Larcen, an' + I'm goin' to plank down a hun'red chicks on him.” + </p> + <p> + He detected a look of incredulous unbelief in Mortimer's face, evidently, + for he added, “You t'ink I ain't got no dough, eh?” He dug down into the + folds of his somewhat voluminous “pants” and drew forth a fair-sized roll. + “See? That wad goes to Larcen straight. I see him do a gallop good enough + for my stuf; but dey got a stable-boy on him, an' dat's why he'll be ten + to one. But dat don't cut no ice wit' me. He'll be out for de goods; it's + a gal owns him, an' dere'll be nut'in' doin'. Gal's name's Porter.” + </p> + <p> + Again Mortimer started. What a little world it was, to be sure! Even here + on the ferry boat, crowded with men of unchristian aspect, he heard the + name of the woman he loved, and standing symbolical of honesty. + </p> + <p> + “What's the name of this—this horse?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Larcen.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Lauzanne?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dat's it. I jes' heered it, an' I t'ought it was Larcen. You've got + it straight, stranger. Say, are you wise to anyt'in'?” + </p> + <p> + “Not about the horse; but I know the people—the young lady; and + they'll win if they can—that's sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Dere won't be many dead 'uns in de Derby. First money's good enough fer + most of de owners. First horse, I see him gallop like a good 'un. An' I'm + a piker; I like a bit of odds fer my stuff.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer saw the other occupants of the train moving toward the front end. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we're dere,” said his companion; “perhaps I'll see you on de + course. If you make a break to-day, play Larcen; he'll win. Say, I didn't + catch your name.” + </p> + <p> + “Mortimer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, take care of yourself, Mr. Morton. See you later.” + </p> + <p> + * * * * * * * * * * + </p> + <p> + In his ignorance of a race meet Mortimer had felt sure he would be able to + find Alan Porter without trouble. The true difficulty of his quest soon + dawned upon him. Wedged into the pushing, shoving, hurrying crowd, in + three minutes he had completely lost himself. A dozen times he rearranged + his bearings, taking a certain flight of steps leading up to the grand + stand as the base of his peregrinations; a dozen times he returned to this + point, having accomplished nothing but complete bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + He asked questions, but the men he addressed were too busy to bother with + him; some did not hear, others stared at him in distrust, and many + tendered flippant remarks, such as “Ask a policeman;” “You'll find him in + the bar;” “He's gone to Europe.” + </p> + <p> + Even Mortimer's unpracticed mind realized speedily that it would be + nothing short of a miracle if he were to find anyone in all those + inpatient thousands who even knew the person he was seeking. One young man + he spoke to declared that he knew Alan Porter quite well; he was a great + friend of his; he'd find him in a minute. This obliging stranger's quest + led them into the long race track bar room, which somehow or other + suggested to Mortimer a cattle shambles. + </p> + <p> + Behind the bar young men in white coats, even some in their shirt sleeves, + were setting forth on its top, with feverish haste, clinking glasses that + foamed and fretted much like the thirsty souls who called vociferously for + liquid refreshment. Everybody seemed on fire—burnt up by the thirst + of a consuming fever, the fever of speculation. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer's new friend suggested that they indulge in beer while waiting + for the sought one's appearance, and waxing confidential he assured his + quarry that he had a leadpipe cinch for the next race—it couldn't + lose. The trainer was a bosom friend of his; a sort of hybrid brother in + friendship. He himself was no tipster, he was an owner; he even went the + length of flashing a bright yellow badge, as occult evidence of his + standing. + </p> + <p> + These matters did not interest the searcher in the slightest; they only + wasted his precious time. If he did not find Alan Porter soon the stolen + money would be lost, he felt sure. + </p> + <p> + “I must find my friend,” he said, cutting the garrulous man short. “Excuse + me, I'll go and look for him.” + </p> + <p> + But the other was insistent; ferret-like, he had unearthed good meat—a + rare green one—and he felt indisposed to let his prey escape. His + insistence matured into insolence as Mortimer spoke somewhat sharply to + him. Ignorant of racing as the latter was, he was hardly a man to take + liberties with once he recognized the infringement. The enormity of his + mission and the possibility that it might be frustrated by his undesirable + tormentor, made him savage. Raised to quick fury by a vicious remark of + the tout who held him in leash, he suddenly stretched out a strong hand, + and, seizing his insulter by the collar, gave him a quick twist that laid + him on his back. Mortimer held him there, squirming for a full minute, + while men gathered so close that the air became stifling. + </p> + <p> + Presently a heavy hand was laid on Mortimer's shoulder and a gruff + policeman's voice asked, “What's the matter here?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much,” Mortimer replied, releasing his hold and straightening up; + “this blackguard wanted me to bet on some horse, and when I refused, + insulted me; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + The other man had risen, his face purple from the twist at his throat. The + officer looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “At it again, Mr. Bunco. I'll take care of him,” he continued, turning to + Mortimer. “He's a tout. Out you go,” this to the other man. Then, tickled + in the ribs by the end of the policeman's baton, the tout was driven from + the enclosure; the spectators merged into a larger crowd, and Mortimer was + left once more to pursue his fruitless search. + </p> + <p> + As he emerged into the open of the lawn he saw a gentleman standing + somewhat listlessly, self-absorbed, as though he were not a party to the + incessant turmoil of the others, who were as men mad. + </p> + <p> + With a faith born of limited experience, Mortimer risked another hazard. + He would ask this complacent one for guidance. What he had to do justified + all chances of rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, sir,” he began, “I am looking for a young friend of mine whose + people own race horses. Where would I be likely to find him?” + </p> + <p> + “If he's an owner he'll probably be in the paddock,” replied the composed + one. + </p> + <p> + “Could you tell me where the paddock is?” + </p> + <p> + “To the right,” and sweeping his arm in that direction the stranger sank + back into his inner consciousness, and blinked his eyes languidly, as + though the unusual exertion of answering his inquisitor's questions had + decidedly bored him. + </p> + <p> + “That man is one in a thousand; yea, forty thousand, for he is a stranger + to excitement,” Mortimer said to himself, as he strode rapidly across the + grass to a gate which opened in the direction the other had indicated. His + eagerness had almost carried him through the gateway when a strong arm + thrown across his chest, none too gently, barred his further progress. + </p> + <p> + “Show your badge, please,” cried a voice. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer exposed the pasteboard he had acquired on his entry to the stand. + </p> + <p> + “You can't pass in here,” said the guardian; “that's only good for the + stand.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” began Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “Stand aside—make room, please!” from the gatekeeper, cut short his + conversation. + </p> + <p> + Others were waiting to pass through. In despair he gave up his untenable + place, and once more was swallowed in the maelstrom of humanity that + eddied about the stand enclosure. + </p> + <p> + As he was heading for his rock of locality, the stairway, hurrying + somewhat recklessly, he ran with disturbing violence full tilt into a man + who had erratically turned to his left, when according to all laws of the + road he should have kept straight on. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon—” began Mortimer; then stared in blank amazement, + cutting short his apology. The victim of his assault was Mr. Crane. The + latter's close-lidded eyes had rounded open perceptibly in a look of + surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mortimer!” he exclaimed, “You here? May I ask who's running the + bank?” + </p> + <p> + Anxious about the stolen money the sudden advent of Crane on his immediate + horizon threw the young man into momentary confusion. “My mother was ill—I + got leave—I had to see Alan Porter—I've come here to find him. + They'll manage all right at the bank without me.” + </p> + <p> + He fired his volley of explanation at his employer with the rapidity of a + Maxim gun. Truth and what he considered excusable falsehood came forth + with equal volubility. Crane, somewhat mollified, and feeling that at + first he had spoken rather sharply, became more gracious. At sight of + Mortimer he had concluded that it was to see Allis the young man had come, + perhaps at her instigation. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Alan Porter, sir?” Mortimer asked, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I did, but that was about an hour ago. You will probably find him”—he + was going to say—“in the paddock with his sister,” but for reasons + he refrained; “let me see, most likely sitting up in the grand stand.” + </p> + <p> + As Mortimer stood scanning the sea of faces that rose wave on wave above + him, Mr. Crane said, “I hope you found your mother better. If I see Alan + I'll tell him you are looking for him.” + </p> + <p> + When Mortimer turned around Crane had gone. He had meant to ask about the + race Porter's horse Lauzanne was in, but had hesitated for fear he should + say something which might give rise to a suspicion of his errand. He heard + the rolling thunder of hoof beats in the air. From where he stood, over + the heads of many people he could see gaudy colored silk jackets coming + swiftly up the broad straight boulevard of the race course; even as he + looked they passed by with a peculiar bobbing up-and-down motion. The + effect was grotesque, for he could not see the horses, could not see the + motive power which carried the bright-colored riders at such a terrific + pace. + </p> + <p> + A thought flashed through his mind that it might be the Derby. + </p> + <p> + “What race is that?” he asked of one who stood at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + The man's face wore a sullen, discontented look, and no wonder, for he + had, with misplaced confidence, wagered many dollars on a horse that was + even then prancing gaily in many yards behind the winner. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what race that was?” Mortimer repeated, thinking the silent + one had not heard him. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you look at your race card?” retorted the jaundiced loser, + transporting himself and his troubles to the haven of liquid consolation. + </p> + <p> + His answer, curt as it was, gave Mortimer an inspiration. He looked about + and saw many men consulting small paper pamphlets; they were like people + in an art gallery, catalogue in hand. + </p> + <p> + By chance, Mortimer observed a young man selling these race catalogues, as + he innocently named them. He procured one, and the seller in answer to a + question told him it was the third race he had just seen, and the next + would be the Brooklyn Derby. + </p> + <p> + There it was, all set forth in the programme he had just purchased. Seven + horses to start, all with names unfamiliar except The Dutchman and + Lauzanne. He had almost given up looking for Alan; it seemed so hopeless. + At any rate he had tried his best to save the boy's honor; told deliberate + lies to do it. Now it was pretty much in the hands of fate. He remembered + what Alan had said about The Dutchman's certain chance of winning the + coming race. He felt that if the horse won, Alan would put back the stolen + thousand dollars; if not, where would the boy get money to cover up his + theft? + </p> + <p> + It had seemed to Mortimer a foolish, desperate thing to risk money on + anything so uncertain as a horse race; but here was at stake the honor of + a bright, splendid young man—even the happiness of his parents, + which the poor, deluded boy had wagered on one horse's chance of winning + against six others. It was terrible. Mortimer shuddered, and closed his + eyes when he thought of the misery, the shame, that would come to Allis + and her mother when they knew, as they must, if Crane's horse were beaten, + that the son was a thief. Oh, God! why couldn't he find the boy and save + him before it was too late? Probably Alan had already betted the money; + but even if that were so, he had vain visions of forcing the man who had + received the stolen thousand to disgorge. No one had a right to receive + stolen money; and if necessary, Mortimer would give him to understand that + he was making himself a party to the crime. + </p> + <p> + But the mere fact that he couldn't find Alan Porter rendered him as + helpless as a babe; he might as well have remained in the bank that day. + How willingly he would have hastened back and replaced the money if he but + had it. For Allis's sake he would have beggared himself, would have + sacrificed a hundred times that sum to save her from the unutterable + misery that must come if her brother were denounced as a felon. The love + that was in him was overmastering him. + </p> + <p> + He was roused from his despondent train of thought by speech that struck + with familiar jar upon his ear. It was the voice of the man who had + descanted on the pleasures of betting during their journey from New York. + </p> + <p> + “What dye t'ink of it, pard?” was the first salutation. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer stammered the weak information that he didn't know what to think + of it. + </p> + <p> + “Dere ain't no flies on us to-day—I'm knockin' 'em out in great + shape. Can't pick a loser, blamed if I can. I've lined up for a cash-in + tree times, an' I'll make it four straight, sure. Larcen'll come home all + alone; you see if he don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” rejoined Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Mister Morton, put down a bet on him—he's good business; put + a 'V' on, an' rake down fifty—dat'll pay your ex's. De talent's + goin' for De Dutchman, but don't make no mistake about de other, he'll + win.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the young man knew why this persistent worrier of a tortured + spirit had been sent him. Fate gave him the cue; it whispered in his ear, + “Put down a hundred—you have it—and win a thousand; then you + can save Alan Porter—can keep this misery from the girl that is to + you as your own life.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer listened eagerly; to the babbler at his side; to the whisper in + his ear; to himself, that spoke within himself. Even if it were not all + true, if Lauzanne were beaten, what of it? He would lose a hundred + dollars, but that would not ruin him; it would cause him to save and pinch + a little, but he was accustomed to self-denial. + </p> + <p> + “Will the betting men take a hundred dollars from me on this horse, + Lauzanne?” he asked, after the minute's pause, during which these thoughts + had flashed through his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Will dey take a hundred? Will dey take a t'ousand! Say, what you givin' + me?” + </p> + <p> + “If Lauzanne won, I'd win a thousand, would I?” + </p> + <p> + “If you put it down straight; but you might play safe—split de + hundred, fifty each way, win an' show; Larcen'll be one, two, tree, sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to win a thousand,” declared Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “Den you've got to plump fer a win; he's ten to one.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer could hardly understand himself; he was falling in with the + betting idea. It was an age since he stood at his desk in that bank, + abhorrent of all gambling methods, to the present moment, when he was + actually drawing from his pocket a roll of bills with which to bet on a + horse. + </p> + <p> + He took a despairing look through the thicket of human beings that made a + living forest all about, in a last endeavor to discover Alan Porter. Not + three paces away a uniquely familiar figure was threading in and out the + changing maze-it was Mike Gaynor. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer broke from his friend, and with quick steps reached the trainer's + side. + </p> + <p> + “I want to find Alan Porter,” he said, in answer to Gaynor's surprised + salutation. + </p> + <p> + “He was in the paddock a bit ago,” answered Mike; “he moight be there + still.” + </p> + <p> + Almost involuntarily Mortimer, as he talked, had edged back toward his + friend of disconsolate raggedness. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to go in there—I'd like to go now to find him, but they + won't let me through the gate.” + </p> + <p> + “No more they will,” answered Mike, with untruthful readiness, for all at + once it occurred to him that if Mortimer got to the paddock he might run + up against Allis and recognize her. + </p> + <p> + “De gent could buy a badge and get in,” volunteered Old Bill. + </p> + <p> + The lid of Mike's right eye drooped like the slide of a lantern, as he + answered: “He couldn't get wan now—it's too late; just wait ye here, + sir, and if the b'y's there wit' the nags, I'll sind him out.” + </p> + <p> + Old Bill made no comment upon Mike's diplomatic misstatement anent the + badge, for he had observed the wink, and held true to the masonry which + exists between race-course regulars. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please send him out then, Mr. Gaynor; it's important.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm in a hurry meself,” said Mike; “I just come out fer a minute; see + here,” and he nodded his head sideways to Mortimer. The latter walked by + his side for a few steps. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that guy?” asked the Trainer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; he calls himself Old Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ye best look out—he looks purty tough. What's he playin' ye + fer?” + </p> + <p> + “He advised me to bet money on Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “The divil he did! What th' yellow moon does he know about the Chestnut; + did ye back him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Are ye goin' to?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Do you think Lauzanne might come in first?” + </p> + <p> + A slight smile relaxed the habitually drawn muscles of Mike's grim visage; + it was moons since he had heard anybody talk of a horse “coming in first;” + he was indeed a green bettor, this, young man of the counting house. What + was he doing there betting at all, Mike wondered. It must be because of + his interest in the girl, his reason answered. + </p> + <p> + “I tink he'll win if he does his best for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Does his best for who?” + </p> + <p> + Mike got to cover; his ungoverned tongue was always playing him tricks. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Allis is managin' the horses,” he explained, very deliberately, “an' + there's a new b'y up on Lauzanne's back, d'ye onderstand; an' if the + Chestnut doesn't sulk, does his best fer the young misthress that'll be + watchin' him here in the stand wit' tears in her eyes, he moight win—d'ye + onderstand?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, Mortimer understood; it seemed quite clear, for Mike had been to some + pains to cover up the slip he had made. + </p> + <p> + “Now I must go,” he continued; “an' ye needn't come in the paddock—if + the b'y is there, I'll sind him out.” + </p> + <p> + When Alan's seeker returned to Old Bill, he said, “Mr. Gaynor thinks your + choice might come in first.” + </p> + <p> + “Why was Irish steerin' you clear of de paddock?” asked the other. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was to save me the expense of buying a ticket for it.” + </p> + <p> + The other man said nothing further, but the remembrance of Mike's wink + convinced him that this was not the sole reason. + </p> + <p> + They waited for young Porter's appearance, but he did not come. “The + geezer yer waitin' fer is not in dere or he'd a-showed up,” said Old Bill; + “an' if yer goin' to take de tip, we'd better skip to de ring an' see + what's doin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer had once visited the stock exchange in New York. He could not + help but think how like unto it was the betting ring with its horde of + pushing, struggling humans, as he wormed his way in, following close on + Old Bill's heels. There was a sort of mechanical aptness in his leader's + way of displacing men in his path. Mortimer realized that but for his + guide he never would have penetrated beyond the outer shell of the buzzing + hive. Even then he hoped that he might, by the direction of chance, see + Alan Porter. The issue at stake, and the prospect of its solution through + his unwonted betting endeavor, was dispelling his inherent antipathy to + gambling; he was becoming like one drunken with the glamour of a new + delight; his continued desire to discover young Porter was more a + rendering of tithes to his former god of chastity which he was about to + shatter. + </p> + <p> + Two days before betting on horse races was a crime of indecent enormity; + now it seemed absolutely excusable, justified, almost something to be + eagerly approved of. Their ingress, though strenuous, was devoid of + rapidity; so, beyond much bracing of muscles, there was little to take + cognizance of except his own mental transformation. Once he had known a + minister, a very good man indeed, who had been forced into a fight. The + clergyman had acted his unwilling part with such muscular enthusiasm that + his brutish opponent had been reduced to the lethargic condition of + inanimate pulp. Mortimer compared his present exploit with that of his + friend, the clergyman; he felt that he was very much in the same boat. He + was eager to have the bet made and get out into the less congested air; + his companions of the betting ring were not men to tarry among in the way + of moral recreation. + </p> + <p> + The mob agitated itself in waves; sometimes he and Old Bill were carried + almost across the building by the wash of the living tide as it set in + that direction; then an undertow would sweep them back again close to + their starting point. The individual members of the throng were certainly + possessed of innumerable elbows, and large jointed knees, and boots that + were forever raking at his heels or his corns. They seemed taller, too, + than men in the open; strive as he might he could see nothing—nothing + but heads that topped him in every direction. Once the proud possessor of + a dreadful cigar of unrivaled odor became sandwiched between him and his + fellow-pilgrim; he was down wind from the weed and its worker, and the + result was all but asphyxiation. + </p> + <p> + At last they reached some sort of a harbor; it was evidently an inlet for + which his pilot had been sailing. A much composed man in a tweed suit, + across which screamed lines of gaudy color, sat on a camp stool, with a + weary, tolerant look on his browned face; in his hand was a card on which + was penciled the names of the Derby runners with their commercial standing + in the betting mart. + </p> + <p> + Old Bill craned his neck over the shoulder of the sitting man, scanned the + book, and turning to Mortimer said, “Larcen's nine to one now; dey're + cuttin' him—wish I'd took tens; let's go down de line.” + </p> + <p> + They pushed out into the sea again, and were buffeted of the human waves; + from time to time Old Bill anchored for a few seconds in the tiny harbor + which surrounded each bookmaker; but it was as though they were all in + league—the same odds on every list. + </p> + <p> + “It's same as a 'sociation book,” he grunted; “de cut holds in every + blasted one of 'em. Here's Jakey Faust,” he added, suddenly; “let's try + him.” + </p> + <p> + “What price's Laxcen?” he asked of the fat bookmaker. + </p> + <p> + “What race is he in?” questioned the penciler. + </p> + <p> + “Din race; what you givin' me!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know the horse.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer interposed. “The gentleman means Lauzanne,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + Faust glared in the speaker's face. “Why th' 'll don't he talk English + then; I'm no Chinaman, or a mind reader, to guess what he wants. Lauzanne + is nine to one; how much dye want?” + </p> + <p> + “Lay me ten?” asked Old Bill of the bookmaker. + </p> + <p> + “To how much?” + </p> + <p> + “A hun'red; an' me frien' wants a hun'red on, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it,” declared Faust, impatiently. “Ten hundred to one, Lauzanne!” + he called over his shoulder to his clerk, taking the bettor's money; “an' + the number is—?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-five, tree-four-six!” answered Old Bill. “Pass him yer dust,” he + continued, turning to his companion. + </p> + <p> + The latter handed his money to Faust. + </p> + <p> + “Lauzanne!” advised Old Bill. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand-to-hundred-Lauzanne, win; an' the number is” he stretched out + his hand, and turning over Mortimer's dangling badge, read aloud, + “Twenty-five, three-five-seven.” + </p> + <p> + He took a sharp look at the two men; his practised eye told him they were + not plungers, more of the class that usually bet ten dollars at the + outside; they were evidently betting on information; two + one-hundred-dollar bets coming together on Lauzanne probably meant stable + money. + </p> + <p> + “Let's git out, mister,” cried Old Bill, clutching Mortimer's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Don't I get anything—a receipt, or—” + </p> + <p> + Faust heard this and laughed derisively. “You won't need nothin' to show + for this money,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “We'll be roun' at de back in a few minutes fer a couple of t'ou',” + retorted Old Bill. “Let's cut trough here,” he added to his companion, + making a passage between the bookmakers. + </p> + <p> + Bill's knowledge of the local geography was good, and skirting the crowd + they were soon out on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + “Let's watch de parade,” Mortimer's adjutant suggested, and he led the way + down to the course, where they stood against the rail, waiting. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV + </h2> + <p> + During this time there was a bustle of much interest in the paddock. + Allis, ready dressed in the Porter colors, had been driven to the course + half an hour before the time set for the Derby. Her face was as + satisfactorily disguised with dust as though she had ridden three races. + </p> + <p> + Mike assiduously attended to every detail; even the weighing, thanks to + his officious care, was a matter of not more than one minute. The girl's + weight was one hundred and ten pounds, the saddle brought it up to one + hundred and thirteen. She would have to ride at least two pounds + overweight, for the horse's impost was one hundred and eleven. Lauzanne + was being led in a circle by a boy, so Allis shielded herself from the + general gaze in his empty stall. She felt quite sure that nobody there + would recognize her, unless, perhaps, Philip Crane. He was rarely seen in + the paddock, but might this day come out to view The Dutchman. The latter + horse came in for a great deal of attention, for he had been steadily + backed down to the position of equal favorite with White Moth. + </p> + <p> + At last there was the summons to saddle, and Lauzanne was brought into the + stall by Dixon. Then the door was shrouded by an ever-changing semicircle + of curious observers. Allis gave a little start and turned her head away + as Crane, pushing through the others, stood just inside the stall and + spoke to Dixon. + </p> + <p> + “Your horse looks very well; I hope you win, if I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “He's as good as we could make him,” answered the Trainer, as he adjusted + the weight cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Porter here?” were Crane's next words, quite in the tone of a + casually interested friend. + </p> + <p> + “She may be in the stand,” Dixon answered, without turning his head. Mike + had deliberately interposed his body between Allis and the doorway. To the + girl's relief, without further comment, Crane quietly moved away. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Al, fer standin' in front av ye,” said Mike, “but these + outsiders is enough to make a b'y narvous the way they stare at him. Alan + Porter was in the paddock a minute ago askin' fer his sister, but I + hustled him out, telling him ye—I mean she—was in the stand.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mike; you're a good friend,” replied the girl, gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Dixon had never taken so much care over the preparation of a horse for a + race in all his life; and at last everything was as perfect as it could + possibly be made. Lauzanne's behavior gladdened the girl's heart; he was + as supremely indifferent to the saddling, to the staring of the people, to + the scent of battle that was in the soft summer air, as though he were in + his own stable at home. Not a muscle of his huge flank trembled. Once, as + the bridle rein was loosened for an instant, he half turned in the stall, + curved his neck and stretched his golden nozzle toward the small figure in + blue silk, as though he fain would make sure by scent that one of his + natural enemies, a man jockey, had not been thrust upon him. Allis + understood this questioning movement, and reaching out her hand rubbed the + gray velvet of his nose. But for the restraining rein, tightened quickly + by the boy who held him, Lauzanne would have snuggled his head against his + little mistress. + </p> + <p> + “They understand each other,” said Dixon to Mike, in an undertone; “we'll + get all that's in him this trip.” + </p> + <p> + “Bot' t'umbs up! if he doesn't come home alone I'll eat me hat. The + sharks'll get a knock this journey, that'll make 'em take a tumble to + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Dixon stepped back to the corner where Allis was and said: “I guess I + can't give you no orders. He's a bit sluggish at the post, an' a few false + breaks won't hurt him none. Just don't be afraid, that's all. A mile an' a + half's a long journey, an' you'll have plenty of time to take their + measure. He's sure to get away last, but that won't matter; there'll be + plenty of openin's to get through after you've gone a mile. Just keep your + eye on The Dutchman—he's a stayer from 'way back; an' Westley may + kid you that he's beat comin' up the stretch, for he's slick as they make + them, an' then come with a rattle at the finish an' nose you out on the + post. Don't never let up once you're into the stretch; if you're ten + lengths ahead don't let the Chestnut down, but keep a good holt on him, + an' finish as though they was all lapped on your quarter. There's a horse + in the race I don't understand; he can no more get a mile an' a half than + I could; it's the Indian, an' why they're puttin' up the startin' price + beats me, unless”—and he lowered his voice to a whisper—“there's + a job to carry Lauzanne, or White Moth, or somethin' off their feet. Just + watch the Indian, an' don't let him shut you in on the rail if you can + help it. They've put up Redpath, an' that beats me, too, for I think he's + straight. But the Indian hasn't a ghost of a chance to win. You'd better + take a whip.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want either whip or spurs,” answered the girl. “Lauzanne will do + better without them.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, but take a whip—something else in the race might need + it; an' if you have to use it, use it good an' strong. If Langdon lodges + an objection I can make him quit.” + </p> + <p> + Over at The Dutchman's stall there was a very confident party. Their horse + would go to the post as fit as any thoroughbred had ever stripped. Langdon + was a great trainer—there was no doubt about that; if there had been + Crane would have discovered it and changed his executive officer. The tall + son of Hanover was lean of flesh, but gross in muscle. He was as though an + Angelo had chiseled with sure hand from his neck, and ribs, and buttocks + all the marble of useless waste, and left untouched in sinewy beauty layer + on layer, each muscle, and thew, and cord. Flat-boned and wide the + black-glossed legs, and over the corded form a silken skin of dull + fire-red. From the big eyes gleamed an expectant delight of the struggle; + not sluggishly indifferent, as was Lauzanne's, but knowing of the fray and + joyous in its welcome. + </p> + <p> + “He'll win on a tight rein,” confided Langdon to Jockey Westley; “he's the + greatest Hanover in the land. There's a dozen races bottled up in that + carcass”—and he slapped the big Bay lovingly on the rump”—but + if you're put to it, Bill, you can call on him fer the full dozen today. + There's nothin' to it but yourself and White Moth.” + </p> + <p> + Carelessly he stepped to the back of the stall, touching Westley as he + passed. Kicking the loose dirt with his toes, and bending his head to bury + his voice, Langdon continued in a subdued tone: “The Indian'll cut out the + pace so fast that it'll choke off Lauzanne. The Chestnut's a plugger an' + ain't no good when it comes to gallopin'. If you was to all loaf aroun' he + might hang on an' finish in front; but the pace'll kill him—it'll + break his heart; the fast goin'll lay out White Moth, too, for she'll go + to the front an' die away after a mile an' a quarter. Just nurse the Bay, + an' let the others fight the Indian. But don't loaf an' let Lauzanne get + near you, fer he can keep up a puddlin' gait all day. There ain't nothin' + else in the race I'm afraid of; there ain't one of them can last a mile + an' a half.” Then he added, with a disagreeable chuckle—it was like + the slobbering laugh of a hyena—“I miss my guess if the boy on + Lauzanne kills himself tryin' to win anyway. He seems a fair lad, but you + can ride rings 'round him, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll put up a good ride on The Dutchman, an' I think we'll ketch the + Judge's eye,” replied Westley. “It doesn't seem to stand for it that a + stable-boy on a bad horse like Lauzanne is goin' to beat me out.” + </p> + <p> + “The boss says you're to have two thousand fer winnin', Westley, so don't + make no mistake. I wasn't goin' to tell you this afore you went out, fer + fear it'd make you too eager. Many a race's been thrown away by a boy + bein' too keen, an' makin' his run too early in the game; but you've a + good head and might as well know what you're to have. There's the bugle; + get up.” + </p> + <p> + Eager hands stripped the blanket that had been thrown over The Dutchman; + Westley was lifted into the saddle, and the gallant Bay led out by + Langdon. + </p> + <p> + In front strode White Moth; one by one the others, and last, seventh, + Allis's fatal number, lagged Lauzanne, lazily loafing along as though he + regretted leaving the stall. + </p> + <p> + As the horses passed to the course, Crane, who had followed The Dutchman + to the gate, raised his eyes from scanning Lauzanne to the rider on his + back. It was just a look of languid interest in the apprentice boy Dixon + had put up instead of such a good jockey as Redpath. The face rivetted his + attention; something in the line of the cheek recalled a face he had + constantly in view. + </p> + <p> + “For an instant I thought that was Alan Porter on Lauzanne,” he said to + Langdon, who was at his elbow. “A strange fancy—I'm going up to the + stand to watch the race:” + </p> + <p> + “It's all roight but the win now,” said Mike to Dixon. “I'm goin' in be + the Judges' box to watch the finish. You'll be helpin' the b'y pass the + scales, Andy.” + </p> + <p> + As Allis passed the Judges' Stand in the parade she cast a quick, furtive + look toward the people on the lawn. She seemed pilloried on an eminence, + lifted up in pitiless prominence; would anyone detect her at the last + moment? Hanging over the rail in the very front she saw a pale face that + struck a chill of fear to her heart—it was Mortimer's. She had not + even thought of his being there. She had eluded the close scrutiny of all + the others who were likely to recognize her, but there, within ten yards + were eyes almost certain to penetrate her disguise. The girl turned her + face away; she knew Mortimer well enough to think that if he did recognize + her he would make no sign. + </p> + <p> + “That's our horse,” declared Old Bill, as Lauzanne passed. “He's all + right, bet yer life; he's fit ter go all day. De geezer as trains him + ain't no mug. Let's go up in de stand, where we can see de whole show; den + we'll come down an' cash in. Say, pard, if dis goes through I'll blow you + off to a bottle of de best; wine ain't none too good fer dis coop.” + </p> + <p> + Altogether it was as though Destiny had found pleasant domicile in the + ancient clothing of Old Bill, and was using their unique wearer as a + protective agent to ward off evil from both Mortimer and the girl. As they + jogged toward the starting post Allis allowed Lauzanne to lag; she wished + to avoid Redpath. But the Indian was a horse of uncertain temperament, and + presently, with a foolish side rush, he cannoned fair into Lauzanne. In + the melee Redpath looked full into Allis's eyes at short range. His face + went white in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he cried, pulling hard at his horse's mouth; “it's you, Miss—” + He stopped suddenly. “God! I'm glad I know this,” he jerked between set + teeth, as he fought the Indian, who was nearly pulling him out of the + saddle. + </p> + <p> + “It's because he'll gallop for you, isn't it? You didn't think I was a + wrong one—it wasn't because you couldn't trust me you took the mount + away, was it?” + </p> + <p> + The Indian, quieted by the sleepy Chestnut, was going steadier. “No; it's + because Lauzanne won't give his running for anyone but me,” the girl + answered. + </p> + <p> + The boy remained silent, thinking over why he was on the Indian. There was + a moral obliquity about his present position; the new light of his + discovery showed him this strongly. His feelings had been played upon by + the owner of the Indian, at Langdon's instigation. + </p> + <p> + He had been told that the Porters had not given him the mount on Lauzanne + because they distrusted him. He had been put on the horse to make running + for The Dutchman. There was nothing really patently dishonest about this + arrangement, and Redpath's mind had been dulled to fine discrimination by + the idea that he was falsely distrusted. + </p> + <p> + Presently the boy spoke with sharp decision, in quick broken sentences, + for they were nearing the Starter. “I'm in to make the running; this + crock's got no license to win. Don't you bother about him—he'll come + back to the others fast enough when he's done. When you want an opening to + get through just come bang into me—I'll be next the rail; yell + 'Lauzanne,' an' I'll pull out. I'll give them blasted crooks something to + stare at. Don't gallop your mount's head off chasing this sprinter; he'll + be beat when we swing into the stretch. Don't go wide at the turn; you can + have my place; I'll make it wide for something else though.” + </p> + <p> + They were at the post. Allis had not spoken; she had listened gratefully + to Redpath's string of kindly directions. The presence of a friend in the + race cheered her; the discovery she had dreaded had come as a blessing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI + </h2> + <p> + Crane's words had started a train of thought in Langdon's mind. All at + once he remembered that the face of Lauzanne's rider had a dream-like + familiarity. He had not given it much thought before; but his owner's + suggestion that the boy was like Alan Porter echoed in his ears. He had + wondered where Dixon had got this new boy; why he was putting him up on + Lauzanne instead of Redpath; it seemed a foolish thing to give the mount + to an apprentice when a good jockey was to be had. Could it be that it + really was Alan. The whole family were natural-born jockeys, father and + son, even the girl, Allis. + </p> + <p> + Langdon knew nothing of Alan Porter's movements—had not been + interested enough to know. He had heard derogatory remarks about Redpath's + riding of Lucretia in the Brooklyn Handicap; the Porters, no doubt + dissatisfied—suspicious of the jockey—had put up Alan to + insure an honest ride. + </p> + <p> + Langdon had thought these thoughts as he passed swiftly from the paddock + to the stand inclosure, where he stood not far from the rail, trying to + get a good look at the lad on Lauzanne. Allis's persistently averted face + thwarted this. The boy was inscribed on the jockey board “Al Mayne;” the + permit to ride must be under that name. If it were really Alan Porter, why + had he been called Mayne? But the boy had retained the name “Al”—that + was a contraction of Alan, no doubt. + </p> + <p> + While Langdon labored over the problem of Mayne's Identity he had watched + the horses at the post through his glasses. The Dutchman was behaving + well, his trifle of eagerness to break away was even better than + Lauzanne's indolent indifference. The other five were acting as + three-year-olds are wont to act—with erratic indecision; one minute + violent desire, and the next obstinate reluctance characterizing their + interminable twistings, backings, and plungings. It was not for long; a + neck or a length at the start meant little when a mile and a half + stretched its tiring length between them and the finish post. + </p> + <p> + Langdon's perplexity was cut short by the cry, “They're off!” the jingle + of a bell, and the scurrying of many feet, as eager men rushed for higher + points of observation in the stand. + </p> + <p> + As the seven horses came thundering by, pulling double in eager ignorance + of the long journey that lay before them, Langdon saw with evil + satisfaction that the Indian was well out in the lead. + </p> + <p> + The Dutchman was sixth, and behind, with a short awkward strength in his + gallop, loafed Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + There was smoothness in the stride of Hanover's big son, The Dutchman; and + his trainer, as he watched him swing with strong grace around the first + turn, mentally fingered the ten thousand dollars that would shortly be + his. + </p> + <p> + “That skate win!” he sneered, as Lauzanne followed; “he gallops like a fat + pig. He can't live the pace—he can't live the pace,” he repeated, + and his voice was mellow with a cheerful exultation. + </p> + <p> + His observations seemed eminently truthful; Allis's horse trailed farther + and farther behind the others. Out in front galloped with unseeming haste + the Indian—a brown blotch of swift-gliding color. Two lengths from + his glinting heels raced four horses in a bunch—two bays, a gray, + and a black; so close together that they formed a small mosaic of mottled + hue against the drab-gray background of the course stables beyond. Then + The Dutchman, with his powerful stride, full of easy motion—a + tireless gallop that would surely land him the winner, Langdon thought, as + he hung with breathless interest on every move of Westley's body. + </p> + <p> + Up in the stand Old Bill was expressing in florid racetrack speech to + Mortimer his deductions. + </p> + <p> + “Days a good kid on Larcen. See what he's doin'; he's trailin' 'em. Dat's + where our horse gits it; he's a stretch runner, he is. Dey'll have bellows + to mend when he tackles 'em.” + </p> + <p> + To Mortimer it appeared very much as though the other horses were too fast + for Lauzanne. “Isn't he losing?” he asked of his exuberant friend. + </p> + <p> + “Losin' nut'in'! De kid ain't moved on him yet. De others is gallopin' der + heads off; dey're chasm' de crazy skate in front. Dere's only two jocks in + de race worth a damn—Bill Westley an' de kid on our horse. He knows + he's got to beat Dutchy, an' he's lyin' handy by. When you see Dutchy move + up Larcen'll come away, or I'm a goat.” + </p> + <p> + Mike Gaynor had taken his place on the little platform at the top of the + steps leading to the stand. He was watching the race with intense + interest. Would Lauzanne do his best for the girl—or would he sulk? + He saw the terrific pace that the Indian had set the others. Would it + discourage their horse. His judgment told him that this fast pace could + not last, and that Lauzanne could gallop as he was going from end to end + of the mile and a half; even faster if he so wished. Would his rider have + the patient steadiness of nerve to wait for this fulfillment of the + inevitable or would she become rattled and urge the horse. Mike set his + teeth, and his nails were driven hard into his rough palms as he strained + in sympathy with the girl's quietude. + </p> + <p> + How long the Indian held on in his mad lead! Perhaps even he might upset + all clever calculation and last long enough to win. Already the gray, + White Moth, had drawn out from the bunch and was second; the other three + were dropping back in straggling order to The Dutchman, who was still + running as he had been, strong. That was at the mile. At the mile and an + eighth, White Moth was at the Indian's heels; The Dutchman had moved up + into third place, two lengths away; and Lauzanne had become merged in the + three that were already beaten. At the mile and a quarter a half thrill of + hope came to Mike, for Lauzanne was clear of the ruck, and surely gaining + on the leaders. And still his rider was lying low on the withers, just a + blue blur on the dark gold of the Chestnut. + </p> + <p> + “Bot' t'umbs! but they're a pair,” muttered the Irishman; “be me soul, I + t'ink they'll win.” + </p> + <p> + At the bottom turn into the stretch Mike could see that White Moth and The + Dutchman had closed up on the Indian, so that they swung around the corner + as one horse. + </p> + <p> + “Gad, she's shut off!” he muttered. It was a living wall, and through + little chinks in its quivering face he could see specks of blue close up + where raced Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + “Poor gurl!” he gasped, “they've got her in a pocket. Damn them b'ys. Why + did she hug the rail—she's fair t'rowed away the last chance.” + </p> + <p> + Halfway up the steps stood Langdon, and his coarse, evil face took on a + look of unholy joy as Lauzanne was blotted into oblivion by the horses in + front. + </p> + <p> + “Pocketed, by God! Clever Mister Dixon to put up a kid like that ag'in + Westley an' the others,” he sneered. + </p> + <p> + Then a deafening roar went up from the stand. Somebody thrust a pair of + broad shoulders in front of Mike's face; he leaned out far past the + intruder, and saw the Indian sway drunkenly in his stride away from the + rail, carrying White Moth and The Dutchman out; and into the opening he + had left, glued to the rail, crept the chestnut form of Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + A wild yell of Irish joy escaped Mike; then he waited. Now it would be a + race; but Lauzanne was trying, trying all by himself, for the rider was as + still as death. Already the clamor of many voices was splitting the air; + all over the stand it was, “The favorite wins! The Dutchman wins!” Even + yet there was no beckoning call for Lauzanne; but Mike knew. He had said + to Allis before she went out, “If ye ever get level wit' 'em in the + straight, ye can win.” + </p> + <p> + And now Lauzanne's yellow head was even with the others; and soon it was + in front. And then there were only two battling—Lauzanne and The + Dutchman; and on the Bay, Westley was riding with whip and spur. + </p> + <p> + “In a walk—in a walk, I tell you!” fairly screamed Old Bill, + clutching at Mortimer's arm; “didn't I tell you? We're a tousand to de + good. Look at him, look at him!” He had climbed halfway up Mortimer's + strong back in his excitement. “Look at de kid! Never moved—in a + walk, in a walk! Larcen all the way for a million!” + </p> + <p> + His voice generally weak and tattered like his clothes; had risen to a + shrill scream of exultation. + </p> + <p> + It was past all doubt. Lauzanne, a length in front of The Dutchman, was + opposite the stand; in two seconds they had flashed by the Judges' box, + and Lauzanne had won. + </p> + <p> + The wave of humanity that swept down the steps carried Mike in its front + wash. He took his stand close to the Judges' box; there he would be handy + for whatever might be needed. He saw Langdon with a face dark and + lowering, full of an evil discontent, standing there too. Back the seven + runners cantered. Lauzanne's rider saluted the judge with whip, and + slipping from the horse stripped him of the saddle with deft fingers, and + passed quickly into the scales. The weight was right. One after another + the boys weighed. + </p> + <p> + Watching, Mike saw Langdon pass up to the Stewards. There was a short + consultation, the hush of something wrong, and a murmur of an objection. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” a voice questioned in Mike's ear. It was Alan Porter + that had spoken. + </p> + <p> + Mike pushed his way to the small gate, even through it, that led up to the + Stewards' Stand. As he did so Langdon came back down the steps. One of the + Stewards, following him with quick eyes, saw Mike and beckoned with a + finger. + </p> + <p> + “There's an objection to the rider of Lauzanne,” said the official; + “Trainer Langdon says Alan Porter rode the horse under a permit belonging + to a boy named Mayne.” + </p> + <p> + “He's mistook, sir.” answered Mike, respectfully; “there's Alan Porter + standin' down there in the crowd. I'll sind him up, sir, an' ye can ask + him yerself.” + </p> + <p> + Gaynor passed hurriedly down the steps, seized Porter by the arm, and + whispered in his ear, “Tell the judge yer name—that a b'y named + Mayne rode Lauzanne. Quick now.” + </p> + <p> + Then he stepped up to Langdon. The latter had seen Alan Porter go up the + steps, and realized he had made a mistake. Mike drew him inside the little + enclosure that surrounded the stand. + </p> + <p> + “There's Alan Porter wit' the Stewards,” Gaynor whispered close to the + man's face; “an' ye'll withdraw the objection at once. If ye don't ye'll + have to settle wit' the Stewards fer tryin' to bribe the b'y Mayne to pull + Lauzanne. And Shandy has owned up that he was to get five hundred dollars + fer dosin' Lucretia. Ye'll withdraw now, or get ruled off fer life; + besides, p'isinin' a horse is jail business; an' I'll take me oath before + God I can prove this, too. Now go an' withdraw quick. Ye're a damn + blackguard.” + </p> + <p> + Mike had meant to restrict himself to diplomatic pressure, but his Irish + was up like a flash, and he couldn't resist the final expression of wrath. + </p> + <p> + A crowd of silent men had gathered about the box in a breathless wait. + Fortunes depended upon the brief consultation that was being held between + the Stewards. + </p> + <p> + As Alan Porter came down Langdon went up the steps with nervous haste. + “I've made a mistake, gentlemen,” he said to the Stewards, “with your + permission I'll withdraw the objection.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's better that way,” returned one of the Stewards; “the best horse + won, and that's what racing's for. It would be a pity to spoil such a + grand race on a technicality.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII + </h2> + <p> + After his first burst of aboriginal glee, ecstatically uncouth as it was, + Old Bill's joy over the victory of Lauzanne took on a milder form of + expression. + </p> + <p> + “Let's line up fer a cash-in,” he exclaimed to Mortimer, making a break + down the steps to the lawn. On the ground he stopped, his mind working at + fever heat, changing its methods quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Let's wait till de kid's passed de scales; dere's no hurry. Dere won't be + many drawin' down money over Larcen; he's an outsider.” + </p> + <p> + They were still waiting when the rumor of an objection floated like an + impalpable shadow of evil through the enclosure. Old Bill's seamed face + shed its mask of juvenile hilarity, and furrowed back into its normal + condition of disgruntled bitterness. He had seen the slight mix-up when + the Indian swerved in the straight. The objection must have to do with + that, he thought. “What th' 'ell's th, difference,” he said in fierce, + imprecating anger; “de kid on Larcen didn't do no interferin', he jes come + t'rough de openin' an' won-dey can't disqualify him.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” asked Mortimer; “what's wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “De push's tryin' to steal de race; de favorite's beat, an' it's win, tie, + or wrangle wit' 'em. If dey take de race away from Larcen we don't get de + goods, see? Our t'ou's up de spout. Dere he goes, dere he goes; look at de + knocker,” as Langdon came down from the Stewards. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer's heart sank. An exultation such as he had never experienced in + his life had flushed his breast hot; the back of his scalp had tickled in + a creepy way as Lauzanne flashed first past the winning post. He had felt + pride in the horse, in the boy on his back, in himself at having overcome + his scruples; he would be able to save Alan Porter from dishonor. His + heart had warmed to the tattered outcast at his side, who had been the + means to this glorious end. It had been all over, accomplished; now it was + again thrust back into the scales, where it dangled as insecure as ever. + It wasn't the money alone that teetered in the balance, but the honor of + Allis Porter's brother. + </p> + <p> + He gave a sharp cry of astonishment, for going up the steps in front of + them was the boy himself, Alan. Presently he came down again, his face + looking drawn and perplexed. In his ignorance of everything pertaining to + racing Mortimer feared for an instant the theft of the thousand dollars + had been discovered, and the present inquiry had something to do with + that, else why was Alan mixed up in it. + </p> + <p> + As the boy came through the little gate Mortimer accosted him. “Hello, + Alan!” he exclaimed, very gently, “what's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Just a silly mistake,” answered Porter, a weak laugh following his words; + “Langdon has claimed that I rode Lauzanne.” + </p> + <p> + “Is dat it?” interposed Old Bill; “an' did you tell dem dey was wrong-de + stiffs! Dere's cutt'roat Langdon up again; here he comes back, looking as + tough he'd been fired fer splint—de crook! Hello! it's all right + Hoo-ray! Lauzanne gits de race!” For already the cry of “All right!” was + ringing through the betting ring. “Come on, pard,” called Old Bill, + eagerly, to Mortimer; “let's go an' rake down de dough.” + </p> + <p> + “In a minute,” the other answered; and turning to Alan Porter, took him by + the arm and led him to one side. “I suppose you lost over The Dutchman,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm broke,” answered the boy, with a plaintive smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've won.” + </p> + <p> + “You betting!” exclaimed Alan, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—strange, isn't it? But I'm going to put that money of your + father's back.” + </p> + <p> + The boy said nothing, and Mortimer fancied that his face flushed guiltily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can put it back now that Lauzanne's won,” continued Mortimer; “but + don't say a word to a soul about it, I don't want anybody to know I was + betting.” + </p> + <p> + “But what money?” began Alan. + </p> + <p> + “I've won a thousand dollars on Lauzanne—” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, pard,” said Old Bill, impatiently interrupting them, “let's get + our rake off, an' den you kin buck to yer chum after.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer yielded to the tattered one's command, for without his guidance + he never would be able to find the man that held the money. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back in a little while,” he said to young Porter; “don't go + away.” + </p> + <p> + There was delay over the cashing in; being late, they found a line of + Lauzanne men in front of them at the bookmaker's stand. + </p> + <p> + When Mortimer returned to the lawn with eleven hundred dollars in his + pocket Alan Porter had gone. He had dreaded that perhaps the boy might do + something desperate, fearing discovery of the theft; he had thought even + of taking Alan back to Brookfield with him; however, he had told him that + the money would be replaced, the boy would understand that nothing could + happen him and would go back, Mortimer felt sure. He spent a short time + searching for Alan, but his former fruitless quest had shown him the + hopelessness of trying to find a person in that immense throng. He thought + kindly of the enveloping mob that had kept him hidden from Allis, as he + thought. He had feared to meet her—something in his presence might + cause her to suspect that something was wrong. The whole episode was like + a fairy dream. It was a queer twist of Fate's web, his winning enough over + Lauzanne—he, a man who had never betted in his life—to replace + the money the brother had stolen. + </p> + <p> + All at once it occurred to him that some reward was due the instigator of + his success. The thousand he must keep intact. He had a few loose dollars + in his pocket beyond his original hundred, quite sufficient to take him + back to Brookfield. Taking the hundred from his pocket and turning to Old + Bill, who was still with him, he said: “I'm going home, I've had enough + horse racing for one day; you've done me a great kindness—will you + take this hundred—I need the thousand badly, so can't spare more + than this.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on yer life, pard. I give you de tip first, but you got de office + straight from Irish, an' we're quits, see? I wasn't playin' you fer a + sucker, an' yer straight goods. Jes' shove de boodle in yer breast pocket, + an' don't show it to no one. Dere's some here as would take it off you + quick enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Dere ain't no buts in dis game—it's a straight deal, an' we've + split even. If you'd been a crook, well, God knows how we'd a-panned out. + But you ain't no geezer of dat sort—yer square, an' Old Bill wishes + you good luck till de robins nest again. Yer goin', eh? Say, pard, I'd + a-been wearin' diamon's if I could quit when I was 'head of de game. Yer + dead onto it. Here's my hand, Mr. Morton.” + </p> + <p> + “Mortimer—George Mortimer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, shake, George. Where do you hang out?” + </p> + <p> + “Brookfield.” + </p> + <p> + “My address is New York. Dat's as close a fit as I knows at present. If de + run o' luck keeps up p'r'aps I'll write you from de Waldorf. Good-bye, of + man.” + </p> + <p> + With a light heart Mortimer hastened from Gravesend, not waiting for the + other races, and took his way to Brookfield. A genuine admiration of + buffeted Old Bill filled his mind. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he would be at the bank bright and early, and replace the + stolen thousand dollars; nobody would know that it had been taken. The + narrow escape that had come to Alan Porter might prove his salvation. + Surely it would cure him of his desire to bet. Out of all this evil + positive good would accrue. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII + </h2> + <p> + After winning on Lauzanne Allis had dodged the admiring crowd of paddock + regulars that followed her. As Lauzanne was being blanketed she had kissed + the horse's cheek and given him a mighty squeeze of thankfulness. How + nobly he had done his part; good, dear old despised, misjudged Lauzanne. + He had veritably saved her father from disaster; had saved her from—from + many things. + </p> + <p> + She had slipped into her long coat and stood waiting for Mike to drive her + to Dixon's cottage when the rumor came of an objection. Then there had + been the misery of terrible suspense, a wait of uncertainty. Was her + sacrifice of womanly instinct to go for nothing? Dixon had hurried to the + scene of investigation; then he had come back after a little with Mike, + and the good news that they had been given the race. If it had not been + for prying eyes she would have knelt there at Lauzanne's feet and offered + up a prayer of thankfulness. She had done all a woman could do, almost + more; Providence had not forsaken her and her stricken father. + </p> + <p> + Then Mike had hurried her to the buggy just as Crane, leaving the beaten + Dutchman and Langdon, had come, asking Dixon where Miss Porter was, that + he might tender congratulations. He wanted to see the boy that had ridden + Lauzanne, also—wanted to take his hand and tell him what a grand + race he had ridden. But Dixon had been ready with excuses; the boy was + dead beat after the race—he was only a kid—and had gone to + Dixon's home. Miss Porter was perhaps in the stand, or perhaps she had + gone home also. Crane knew of Langdon's objection. It was a silly thing, + he said, due to overeagerness. He had taken no part in it, he assured + Dixon. Alan Porter, too, came into the paddock, asking for his sister; but + fared pretty much as Crane had. He would certainly find her at the + cottage, Dixon assured him. + </p> + <p> + That night Allis wired the joyful tidings to her father, and that she + would be home in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Rathbone's prophecy as to the proper medication for John Porter stood + a chance of being fulfilled in one day. Allis's telegram proved that the + doctor had understood the pathology of Porter's treatment, for he became + as a cripple who had touched the garment of a magic healer. + </p> + <p> + It was thus that Allis found him when she reached Ringwood. Oh, but she + was glad; and small wonder. What she had done was as nothing; it shrank + into insignificance under the glamourous light of the change that had come + over the home. What a magic wand was deserved success; how it touched with + fairy aspect all that drooped with the fearsome blight of anticipated + decay! And even then they did not know the full extent of her endeavor. + Mingled with her mother's gentle welcome, and her father's full-throated + thanks, was praise for the, to him unknown, boy that had ridden Lauzanne + so gallantly. + </p> + <p> + The girl found tears of thankfulness glistening in her eyes as she + listened to the praise that was wholly hers, though given in part to the + jockey. They had not even heard his name—it had not mattered before; + and now when her father asked for it, she answered that Mike called him Al + something. Her father, generous in his salvation, was most solicitous as + to a fitting present; a thousand dollars, or perhaps two, or even more, if + Dixon advised so. What had he promised the lad? But there were so many + things to talk over and settle, and laugh about, and congratulate each + other upon. Good fortune was a generous dame. They were all like children + in their happiness. \ “Yes, Alan had been there,” the girl answered to a + question from her father. Also it was a strange happening, a distortion of + fate that Crane had beaten them in the Brooklyn with Diablo, and now they + had beaten his horse, The Dutchman, with Lauzanne the Despised. All was + content after the turmoil of endeavor. And of the horses, Lauzanne, who + would gallop for no one but Allis, would be brought back to Ringwood, to + be petted and spoiled of his young mistress for the good he had done. + Lucretia, when convalescent, would also come to the farm to rest and get + strong. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of it all Dr. Rathbone came in, and of course, man-like and + doctor-like, with pretended pomposity, said: “I told you so. What did I + say? Now Mrs. Porter, no more scolding over the ways of horses, a good + horse is a delight, and a good daughter a joy forever.” + </p> + <p> + Dear old Dr. Rathbone, wise in his generation and big of heart! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX + </h2> + <p> + At the bank down in the village—well, at nine o'clock Mortimer, + feeling the virtue of early effort, with the money of redemption in his + pocket, entered into the resumption of his duties. At the earliest moment + after the vault was opened he made his way to the box that contained the + Porter payment. One thing troubled him slightly. It was a thousand-dollar + bill that had been taken; the money he had to replace was in hundreds and + fifties. As he slipped them quietly into the box he thought it wouldn't + really matter; he would transfer the three thousand to the account + himself, and nobody would know of the change. Leaving the box where it was + for a little, in the way of subtle strategy, he came out and busied + himself over other matters. + </p> + <p> + To Mortimer's slight astonishment, presently the cashier, Mr. Lane, came + out from his office, and speaking somewhat carelessly, said: “Mr. + Mortimer, you have that Porter note and money in charge. It is due today, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Looking up, Mortimer saw Lane's eye fixed upon his face with piercing + intensity. He flushed out of sheer nervousness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he stammered, “it is. I'll attend to it at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” there was a peculiar drawl in the cashier's voice as he spoke; “ah, + I had a communication from Mr. Porter yesterday, asking if the note had + been paid.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer felt his knees shake-something was choking hire. Had the devil of + mischance taken the salvation of Alan's good name out of his hands—had + his work been for nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't understand it,” went on the cashier. His voice sounded like + the clang of a fire bell to the listening man, though it was evenly + modulated, cold and steady in its methodical precision. “I thought Porter + knew the money was here to meet the note,” said Lane, still speaking, “but + my attention being called to the matter, I looked up the papers. I found + one thousand dollars missing!” He was looking steadily at Mortimer; his + eyes were searching the young man's very soul. There was accusation, + denunciation, abhorrence in the cashier's gaze. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer did not speak. He was trying to think. His brain worked in + erratic futility. The slangy babble of Old Bill thrust itself upon him; + the roar of the race course was in his ears, deadening his senses; not a + sane, relevant word rose to his lips. He was like a child stricken by + fear. In an indistinct way he felt the dishonor that was Alan Porter's + being given to him. The cashier waited for Mortimer to say something; then + he spoke again, with reproach in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I at once sent a messenger to ask you to return from your home at Emerson + to clear up this matter; he discovered that you had not been there; that + your mother was not ill. May I ask where you were yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at Gravesend, sir—at the races,” answered Mortimer, + defiantly. + </p> + <p> + This speech broke the lethargy that was over him; his mind cleared—he + commenced to think sanely. + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me,” proceeded Lane, “where the balance of Mr. Porter's + three thousand dollars is?” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the box.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a—it is not.” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the box,” repeated Mortimer, firmly. + </p> + <p> + “We can soon settle that point,” declared the cashier, going hurriedly + into the vault and reappearing instantly with the box in his hand. + </p> + <p> + He opened it and stared at the package of bills that rose up when freed + from the pressure of the lid. With nervous fingers he counted the + contents. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he exclaimed in a quick, jerky way. “The three + thousand dollars is here, but these bills have been put in the box this + morning; they were not there last night. It is not the money that was + taken away, either. That was one bill, a thousand-dollar note; and here + are”—he counted them again—“six one hundreds and eight + fifties, besides the original two of one thousand. You put those notes + back, Mr. Mortimer,” he said, tapping the desk with two fingers of the + right hand. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “And you took the money yesterday or the day before?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Lane repeated in a drier, more severe tone than he had used before. + This “Ah” of the cashier's, with its many gradations of tone, had been a + most useful weapon in his innumerable financial battles. It could be made + to mean anything—everything; flung out at haphazard it always caught + his opponent off guard; it was a subtle thrust, and while one pondered + over its possible meaning, Lane could formulate in his mind more decisive + expressions. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he repeated, adding, “if you did not steal the money, who did? And + if you did not take it, why did you put it back?” + </p> + <p> + With an expressive sweep of the hand outward the cashier stood waiting, + his tall, narrow head, topped by carefully brushed gray hair, thrust + forward in the attitude of a parrot about to strike with its beak. + </p> + <p> + “I can't answer those questions,” answered the man he was grilling. “The + money to pay Mr. Porter's note is here; and I fancy that is all the bank + needs to concern itself about. It was entrusted to me, and now I am + prepared to turn it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true; ah, yes, quite true; but it might have been vastly different. + That is the point that most concerns the bank. Whoever took the money”—and + he bowed, deprecatingly, with ironical consideration to Mortimer—“must + have needed a thousand dollars for—well, some speculative purpose, + perhaps. Good fortune has enabled the some one to make good, and the money + has been replaced.” + </p> + <p> + The cashier straightened up, threw his head back, and actually smiled. He + had scored linguistically—by a clever manipulation of the sentence + he had made the some one who had stolen the money the some one who who had + replaced it. That was accusation by inference, if you like. As the other + did not speak, Lane added: “I will wire for Mr. Crane to come at once; + this is a matter for investigation.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer bowed his head in acquiesence; what could he say—what other + stand could the bank take? + </p> + <p> + “You might remain at your desk,” the cashier said, “if there is any + mistake we'll discover it, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer felt like one dead, indeed as a dishonored man he were better + dead. The bank was like a mausoleum, and he a lost spirit haunting its + precincts in quest of the undefiled body that had been his but yesterday. + Cass, the teller, certainly shunned him as he would a leper. Lane, + vindictively pleased that he had unearthed the villain, drew his small + soul into a shell of cold, studious politeness; much as a sea spider might + house his unpleasant body in a discarded castle of pink and white. + </p> + <p> + Alan Porter was late—he had not come yet. Mortimer waited in + suffering suspense for his appearance. What would come of it all. Now that + the money was replaced, if the boy admitted his guilt to Crane, probably + no further action would be taken, but he would be dishonored in the sight + of his employer. Mortimer had sought to avert this; had not denounced Alan + in the first instance; by good fortune had been able to replace the money; + even now had refused to divulge the name of the thief. He was well aware + of the mass of circumstantial evidence, the outcome of his own hurried + actions, that pointed to himself as the guilty one. Better this than that + he should denounce the boy. Dishonor to the lad might kill his father; for + Mortimer was well aware of the doctor's edict. And Allis, the girl he + loved as his life, would hang her head in shame for evermore. He was + anxious to see Alan before the cashier did; he did not want the boy to + deny taking the money at first, as he might do if he were unaware of the + circumstances; it would place him in a wrong light. + </p> + <p> + Just before twelve Alan Porter came hurriedly in. He had missed his train + the night before, he explained in a general way to all. Mortimer stepped + up to him almost at once, speaking with low, earnest rapidity; the cashier + was in his own office and Mr. Cass was not within earshot. + </p> + <p> + “I put the money back, but its loss had been discovered yesterday. I have + been accused of taking it, but have denied it, accusing no one. I want you + to say that you borrowed it, thinking it no great harm, as it was your + father's money.” + </p> + <p> + Alan would have interrupted him, but Mortimer said, “Wait till I finish;” + and then continued: “There will be nothing done to you, I feel sure, if + you will take this stand, because of your father's connection with Crane. + It will save me from dishonor—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Porter.” + </p> + <p> + It was the cashier's voice of Damascus steel cutting in on Mortimer's low, + pleading tones. + </p> + <p> + Alan turned his head, and Mr. Lane, beckoning, said, “Will you step into + my office for a minute?” + </p> + <p> + The cashier's one minute drew its weary length into thirty; and when Alan + Porter came out again, Mortimer saw the boy sought to avoid him. Had he + denied taking the money? My God! the full horror of Mortimer's hopeless + position flashed upon him like the lurid light of a destroying forest + fire. He could read in every line of the boy's face an accusation of + himself. He had trembled when it was a question of Alan's dishonor; now + that the ignominy was being thrust upon him, the bravery that he possessed + in great part made him a hero. If through his endeavor to save the boy he + was to shoulder the guilt, not of his own volition, but without hope of + escape, he would stand to it like a man. What would it profit him to + denounce the boy. + </p> + <p> + Harking back with rapidity over his actions, and Alan's, he saw that + everything implicated him. Once he thought of his mother and wavered; but + she would believe him if he said he had not committed this dreadful crime. + But all the world of Brookfield would despise the name of her son if it + were thought that he had sought to testify falsely against his friend. And + was not Alan the brother of Allis? + </p> + <p> + Mentally his argument, his analysis of the proper course to pursue was + tortuous, not definable, or to be explained in concise phraseology; but + the one thought that rose paramount over all others was, that he must take + his iniquitous punishment like a man. He had fought so strongly to shield + the brother of the girl he loved that the cause in all its degradation had + accrued to him. + </p> + <p> + At one o'clock the president, Crane, arrived from New York, and in him was + bitterness because of his yesterday's defeat. He had sat nearly the whole + night through mentally submerged in the double happening that had swept + many men from the chess board. Lauzanne, the despised, had kept from his + hand a small fortune, even when his fingers seemed tightening on the coin, + too. That was one happening. John Porter had gained over twenty thousand + dollars. This made him quite independent of Crane's financial bolstering. + The Banker's diplomacy of love had been weakened. That was the other + happening. + </p> + <p> + Crane was closeted with the cashier not more than ten minutes when + Mortimer was asked to join the two men who had so suddenly become deeply + interested in his affairs. + </p> + <p> + The cashier's hand had been strengthened by Crane's contribution of + evidence. Mortimer had told the same falsehood about his mother being ill + to him at the race course. From Alan the cashier had learned that Mortimer + had been betting heavily; he had admitted to the boy that he had won + enough to replace the thousand dollars he had stolen. Mortimer's words had + been contorted into that reading in their journey through two + personalities. He had even begged young Porter not to speak of his betting + transactions. He had denied taking the money—that was but natural; + he had been forced to admit replacing it—that was conclusive. Indeed + it seemed a waste of time to investigate further; it was utterly + impossible to doubt his guilt. Mesh by mesh, like an enthralling net, all + the different threads of convicting circumstances were drawn about the + accused man. + </p> + <p> + “Let us question him?” said Crane; and in his heart was not sorrow, nor + hate, nor compassion, nor anything but just joy. Greater than the + influence of money in his love ambition would be this degradation, this + reducing to a felon a man he felt stood between him and Allis Porter. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday they had won; to-day victory, almost, to him had come. Yes, + bring the deliverer in; he would feast his eyes, the narrow-lidded eyes, + upon the man whose young love might have conquered over all his diplomacy, + and who would go forth from his hands branded as a felon. + </p> + <p> + The probing of the already condemned man elicited nothing beyond a + repeated denial of theft. With the precision of Mam'selle Guillotine, + Cashier Lane lopped off everything that could possibly stand in Mortimer's + defense, grafting into the cleaved places individual facts which confirmed + his guilt. Mortimer contended nothing, threw suspicion upon no one. Was it + Alan Porter? Was it Cass?—but that was impossible. Was it the + cashier himself? Still more impossible. Mortimer answered nothing. He had + not taken the money. Yes, he had replaced it—because he was + responsible for its custody. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see,” cried Crane, impatiently, “that this simple denial of + yours is of no value as against so much that points to your—” he + hesitated—“your implication?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL + </h2> + <p> + While Mortimer was still in the cashier's improvised inquisition room, + Allis Porter came into the bank to arrange the payment of her father's + note. + </p> + <p> + The sunshine seemed to come with her into the counting house that was all + gloom. Her glorious success, the consequent improvement in her father, the + power to pay off his indebtedness—all these had turned that day into + a day of thankfulness. The happiness that was in her rippled her face into + smiles. When the door creaked on its hinges as it swung open, she laughed. + It was a thriftless old door, such as bachelors kept, she murmured. Her + brother's face, gloomy behind the iron screen, tickled her fancy. “You're + like a caged bear, Alan,” she cried, with a smile of impertinence; “I + should hate to be shut up a day like this—no wonder you're cross, + brother.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm busy,” he answered, curtly. “I'll see you after bank hours, Sis; I + want to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I've come to pay father's note, busy-man-of-importance,” she flung back, + with the swagger of a capitalist. + </p> + <p> + “It's paid, Allis.” + </p> + <p> + “Paid! I thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, I'll come out;” and opening a door in the rail, he passed around to + the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Father's note is paid,” he resumed, “but there's fierce trouble over it. + Crane left the money, three thousand dollars, with Mortimer, and he stole”—the + boy's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper—“a thousand of it to bet at + Gravesend.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not true, Alan; God knows it's not true. Mortimer wouldn't steal.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did,” persisted the brother, “and he begged of me to take the + blame. He said it would ruin him, but that Crane wouldn't do anything to + me. He's a vile, sneaking thief, Allis!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Alan; don't say that. It's all some dreadful mistake. The money + will be found somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “It has been found; Mortimer put it back. Why should he replace the money + if he had not stolen it?” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mr. Mortimer, Alan?” + </p> + <p> + The boy pointed with his thumb to the door of the cashier's office. + “Crane's in there, too. I hope Mortimer owns up. He can't do anything + else; they caught him putting the money back.” + </p> + <p> + Allis remembered that she had seen Mortimer on the race course. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mortimer doesn't bet,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he does; he did yesterday, anyway; and when he saw that I knew about + it, he begged me to say nothing—practically admitted that he had + taken the money, and was going to put it back.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should he tell you that, Alan?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, unless he feared it might be found out while he was away; + or, perhaps he was so excited over winning a thousand dollars that he + didn't know what he was saying. At any rate, he took it right enough, + Allis, and you ought to cut him.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't do that. He's innocent, I know he is—I don't care what + they say. If he replaced the money, it was to shield the man who took it.” + She was looking searchingly into her brother's eyes—not that she was + accusing him of the theft, she was just searching for the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean it was to shield me—that I took it? No one could have + taken the money except Mortimer or myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” answered the girl, wearily; “it's all so terribly new; I + only know that Mortimer did not steal it.” + </p> + <p> + While she was still speaking, the accused man came from the cashier's + office, holding his head as erect as an Indian, not at all as a + half-convicted felon should have slunk through the door; yet withal in his + face was a look of troubled gravity. + </p> + <p> + When Mortimer saw Allis his face flushed, then went pale in an instant. He + felt that she knew; he had seen her talking earnestly to her brother. + Probably she, too, would think him a thief. He admitted to himself that + the evidence was sufficient to destroy anyone's faith in his innocence, + and he was helpless, quite helpless; he was limited to simple denial, + unless he accused her brother; even had he been so disposed, there was + nothing to back up a denunciation of the boy. He felt a twinge of pain + over Alan's ingratitude; the latter must know that he had put his neck in + a noose to save him. Now that one of them needs be dishonored, why did not + Alan prove himself a man, a Porter—they were a hero breed—and + accept the gage of equity. Even worse, Alan was shielding himself behind + this terrible bulwark of circumstantial evidence which topped him, the + innocent one, on every side. + </p> + <p> + As he resumed his place at his desk close to the brother and sister, Alan + looked defiantly at him. He could see in the boy's eyes malignant + detestation, a glimmer of triumph, as though he felt that Mortimer was + irrevocably in the toils. The lad was like a strippling Judas; his + attitude filled Mortimer with loathing. He stole a look into the girl's + face. Would she, too, say with her, eyes, “Behold, here is Barabbas!” + </p> + <p> + A thrill of ecstatic comfort warmed his being. In Allis's eyes was the + first touch of kindness he had known in this hour of trial; faith, and + sorrow, and cheer, and love were all there, striving for mastery; no + furtive weakening, no uncertain questioning, no remonstrance of reproval—nothing + but just unlimited faith and love. If the boy's look had angered him, had + caused him to waver, had made the self-sacrifice seem too great when + repaid with ingratitude, all these thoughts vanished in an instant, + obliterated by that one look of unalterable love. In the hour of darkness + the girl stood by him, and he would also stand firm. She would believe in + him, and his sacrifice would be as nothing. He had undertaken to avert the + sorrow of dishonor from her, from her brother, from her parents, and he + would continue to the end. He would tell no one on earth but his mother + the full truth; she must know. Then with the faith of the two women he + loved, still his, he could brave the judgment of all others. Perhaps not + willingly in the first place would he have taken upon himself the brand of + Barrabas, but out of good motive he had incurred it. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer heard the brother say, “I think you had better not,” then the + girl's voice, clear and decisive, answering, “I will, I must.” + </p> + <p> + In anger Alan left his sister's side, and she, stepping up to the wicket, + said, “Will you please come out for a minute, Mr. Mortimer, I want to + speak with you.” + </p> + <p> + He passed around to her side. Crane and the cashier were still closeted in + the latter's office. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go out into the sunshine,” Allis said. “Can you—will it make + any difference?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it matters much,” he answered, despondently; “things are as + bad as they can be, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + He took it for granted that she knew everything; but he was possessed of + no shame, no diffidence, no reserve; he was innocent, and her eyes had + assured him that she knew it. As they passed through the door it creaked + again on its dry hinges. Before she had laughed at the weird complaining; + now it sounded like a moan of misery. Outside the village street was + deserted; there was no one to listen. + </p> + <p> + “What is this dreadful thing all about?” and she laid her hand on his arm + in a gesture of amity, of association. Her touch thrilled him; she had + never gone that length in friendly demonstration before. He marveled at + her generous faith. All but dishonored, the small, strong hand lifted him + to a pedestal-her eyes deified him. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand dollars was stolen from the bank, and I am accused of taking + it,” he answered, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't, did you? I know you didn't, but I want to hear you say so.” + </p> + <p> + He looked full into the girl's eye, and answered with deliberate + earnestness, “I did not steal the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one took it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know who it was?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “But you suspect some one?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Did you put the money back?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded his head. + </p> + <p> + “To protect somebody's good name?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it had been in my charge. I can't talk about it,” he broke in, + vehemently; “all I can say is, that I am innocent. If you believe that I + don't care what they do. They'll be able to prove by circumstantial + evidence that I took it,” he added, bitterly, “and nothing that I can say + will make any difference. My mother won't believe me guilty, and, thank + God, you don't; and I am not; God knows I am not. Beyond that I will say + nothing; it is useless—worse than useless; it would be criminal—would + only cast suspicion on others, perhaps innocent. I don't know what they'll + do about it; the money has been repaid. They may arrest me as a felon—at + any rate I shall be forced to leave the bank and go away. It won't make + much difference.—I am as I was before, an honest man, and I shall + find other openings. It's not half so hard as I thought it would be; I + feared perhaps that you—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped him with an imploring gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Let me finish,” he said. “I must go back to the office. I thought that + you might believe me a thief, and that would have been too much.” + </p> + <p> + “You cared for my poor opinion?” she asked. The quiver in her voice caused + him to look into her face; he saw the gray eyes shrouded in tears. He was + a queer thief, trembling with joy because of his sin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I care,” he answered; “and it seemed all so dark before you brought + the sunlight in with you; now I'm glad that they've accused me; somebody + else might have suffered and had no one to believe in him. But I must go + back to—my prison it seems like now—when I leave you;” this + with a weary attempt at brave mockery. + </p> + <p> + Allis laid a detaining hand on his arm, the small gloved hand that had + guided Lauzanne to victory. “If anything happens, if you are going away—I + think you are right to go if they distrust you—you will see me + before you leave, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you care to see me if I stand branded as a thief?” The word came + very hard, but in his acridity he felt like not sparing himself; he wanted + to get accustomed to the full obloquy. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me to come to Ringwood before going away,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will; and I thank you. No matter how dark the shadow may make my + life your kindness will be a hope light. No man is utterly lost when a + good woman believes in him.” + </p> + <p> + The creaking bank door wailed tremulously, irritably; somebody was pushing + it open from the inside. With a whine of remonstrance it swung wider, and + Crane stepped out on the sidewalk. He stared in astonishment at Mortimer + and Allis, his brow wrinkled in anger. Only for an instant; the forehead + smoothed back into its normal placidity and his voice, well in hand, said, + in even tones: “Good afternoon, Miss Porter. Are you going back to + Ringwood?” and he nodded toward Allis's buggy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am. I'm going now. Good day, Mr. Mortimer,” and she held out her + hand. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer hesitated, and then, flushing, took the gloved fingers in his + own. Without speaking, he turned and passed into the bank. + </p> + <p> + “May I go with you?” asked Crane; “I want to see your father.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall be glad to drive you over,” the girl answered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLI + </h2> + <p> + When they had passed the edge of the village the Banker said: “I doubt if + you would have shaken hands with Mr. Mortimer if you knew—I mean, he + is under strong suspicion, more than strong suspicion, for he is + practically self-accused of having stolen a sum of money from the bank. In + fact, I'm not sure that it wasn't from your father he really stole it.” + </p> + <p> + “I do know of this terrible thing,” she answered. “I shook hands with him + because I believe him innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “You know more than we do?” It was not a sneer; if so, too delicately + veiled for detection; the words were uttered in a tone of hopeful inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mortimer could not steal—it is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you sufficient grounds for your faith—do you happen to know + who took the money, for it was stolen?” + </p> + <p> + The girl did not answer at once. At first her stand had simply been one of + implicit faith in the man she had conjured into a hero of all that was + good and noble. She had not cast about for extenuating evidence; she had + not asked herself who the guilty man was; her faith told her it was + morally impossible for Mortimer to become a thief. Now Crane's questions, + more material than the first deadening effects of Alan's accusation, + started her mind on a train of thought dealing with motive possibilities. + </p> + <p> + She knitted her small brows, and tapping the jogging horse's quarter with + the whip sat for many minutes silently absorbed. + </p> + <p> + Her companion waited for an answer with his usual well-bred patience. + Perhaps the girl had not heard him. Perhaps she did not wish to answer a + question so unanswerable. He waited. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer, being innocent, replaced the stolen money, Allis's mind + tabulated—she tickled this thought off on the horse with her whip—it + was to shield some one. Her heart told her, his eyes had told her, that he + would have taken upon himself this great risk but for one person, her + brother. Yes, Mortimer was a hero! The horse, lazily going, jumped a + little in the traces; she had struck him a harder tap with the whip. Allis + continued her mental summing up. Why did Mortimer go to Gravesend? It must + have been to see Alan—the boy was there. If he had discovered that + the money was missing, and thought Alan had taken it, he would do this; if + he had suspected some other person he would have made the matter known to + the cashier. He did not replace the money at once, because he hadn't it. + She knew that Mortimer was poor. He had failed to find Alan until after + Lauzanne's victory; her brother had told her this much, and that Mortimer + had won a lot of money over the horse. Why he had bet on Lauzanne she knew + not; perhaps Providence had guided, had helped him that much. But surely + that was the money, his winnings, with which he had replaced the thousand + dollars. + </p> + <p> + The girl's mind had worked methodically, following sequence of action to + sequence, until finally the conviction that Mortimer had sought to shield + her brother, and chance or Providence working through herself and Lauzanne + had placed in his hands the necessary funds, came to her as fixedly as + though the whole past panorama of events lay pictured before her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She saw all this mentally; but would it avail anything in actuality? If + the boy disclaimed guilt, as he had; if Mortimer limited his defense to a + simple denial, refusing to implicate her brother, what could she do except + give her moral support? To her it seemed such a small reward for his + heroism; her faith would not save him from the brand of felony, and to + follow out her convictions publicly she must denounce her brother, cast + upon him the odium of theft. Truly her position was one of extreme + hopelessness. Two men she loved stood before her mentally, one accused of + others as a thief, and one—her own brother—charged by her + reason with the crime. + </p> + <p> + Under the continued silence Crane grew restless; the girl, almost + oblivious of his presence, deep in the intricacies of the crime, gave no + sign of a desire to pursue the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am anxious to clear the young man if he is innocent,” + hazarded the banker, to draw her gently back into the influence that he + felt must be of profit to himself. This assertion of Crane's was only + assimilatively truthful. As president of the bank, naturally he should + wish to punish none other than the guilty man; as a rival to Mortimer for + the girl's affection, he could not but be pleased to see the younger man + removed from his path, and in a way which would forever preclude his + aspiring to Allis's hand. Believe in Mortimer as she might, he felt sure + that she would not run counter to the inevitable wishes of her mother and + marry a man who stood publicly branded as a thief. + </p> + <p> + Allis answered his observation—he distinctly felt the vibration of + pain in her voice—with a startling depth of analytical discernment:— + </p> + <p> + “While I believe in Mortimer's innocence, and will always believe in it, I + am afraid that he has drawn such a web of circumstantial evidence about + him, trying to shield some one else, that—that—it is too + terrible!” she broke off, passionately—“he is innocent. For God's + sake, Mr. Crane”—she took the reins in her whip hand, and put her + left on his arm, pleadingly—“for God's sake, for his mother's sake, + save him. You can do it—you can believe that he is innocent, and + stop everything. The money has been paid back.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't that, Miss Allis”—his voice was so cuttingly even after + the erratic pump of her own—“in a bank one must not have a dishonest + person. We must investigate to the end, and if Mortimer can clear himself + by fastening the crime upon the perpetrator—” + </p> + <p> + “He will never do that; he cannot if he would.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do then, Miss Allis? But why shouldn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see—don't you understand the man? He commenced by + shielding some one, and he will carry it through to the bitter end.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid there was no one to shield but himself—everything + points to this conclusion. The money was locked up, he had the keys, no + one touched them—except your brother, and that but for a minute—but + if any suspicion could attach to your brother it is all dissipated by + Mortimer's subsequent actions. It's unpleasant to even hint at such a + contingency, but if Mortimer is innocent, then your brother must be the + guilty one.” + </p> + <p> + He expected the girl to denounce indignantly such a possibility; he was + surprised that she remained silent. Her non-refutation of this deduction + told him as conclusively as though she had uttered the accusation that she + thought Alan had taken the money and Mortimer was shielding him. It was + but a phase of blind love; it was the faith women place in men they love, + of which he had read and scoffed at. + </p> + <p> + Against all evidence she was holding this man honest, believing her + brother the thief. + </p> + <p> + Surely a love like that was worth winning; no price was too great to pay. + Her very faith in Mortimer, through which she sought to save him by + inspiring Crane, determined the latter to crush utterly the man who stood + between him and this great love. Intensity of hate, or love, or cupidity, + never drew Crane out of his inherent diplomacy; he took refuge behind the + brother of Allis. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, and his voice was modulated with kindness, “I can't + save Mortimer except at the expense of Alan; you would not have me do + that. Besides, it is impossible—the evidence shines as clear as + noonday.” + </p> + <p> + “If you bring this home to Mr. Mortimer you will punish him, arrest him?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be the usual course.” + </p> + <p> + She had taken her hand off his arm; now she replaced it, and he could feel + the strong fingers press as though she would hold him to her wishes. + </p> + <p> + “You will not do this,” she said, “for my sake you will not.” + </p> + <p> + “You ask this of me, and it is for your sake?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if there is no other way; if Mr. Mortimer, innocent, must take upon + himself this crime, then for my sake you will not punish him.” + </p> + <p> + The gray eyes were violet-black in their intensity. + </p> + <p> + “If I promise—” He had been going to ask for reward, but she broke + in, saying: “You will keep your word, and I will bless you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more—is that all?” + </p> + <p> + The magnetism of the intense eyes broke down his reserve; he slipped back + twenty years in a second. Love touched him with a fire-wand, and his soul + ignited. Cold, passionless Philip Crane spoke in a tongue, unfamiliar as + it was to him, that carried conviction to the girl—just the + conviction that he was in earnest, that he was possessed of a humanizing + love. She listened patiently while he pleaded his cause with much mastery. + It was beyond her understanding, that, though Mortimer through all time + had spoken not at all of love to her—at least not in the passionate + words that came from this man's lips—yet she now heard as though it + were his voice and not Crane's. Love was a glorious thing—with + Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + Crane's intensity availed nothing. When he asked why she held faith to a + man who must be known for all time as a thief, her soul answered, “It is + nothing—because he is innocent.” + </p> + <p> + Because of her Crane would do anything; the matter should be dropped as + though it were all a hideous mistake. Mortimer might remain in the bank; + his employer would even try to believe him innocent, taking the girl's + protestation m conclusive proof. Her mother, her father, everyone would + demand of her, however, that she give the dishonest one up as a + possibility. Even in his vehemence he lost no delicacy of touch. Why + should she chain herself to an impossibility? It would but ruin the man + she professed to regard. + </p> + <p> + The banker made no threat, but Allis shuddered. She knew. The + narrow-lidded eyes had closed perceptibly when their owner talked of the + alternative. He, Crane, loved her—she felt that was true. He was + rich; for her father, for her brother, for herself, even for Mortimer, he + would use his wealth. He pleaded his cause like a strong man, and when he + spoke of failure because of her preference for Mortimer, an acridity crept + into his voice that meant relentless prosecution. + </p> + <p> + She could not hold this full power over Crane without feeling its value. + To pledge herself to him as wife was impossible; she could not do it; she + would not. Fate played into his hands without doubt, but Fate was not + Providence. A decree of this sort, iniquitous, was not a higher command, + else she would not feel utter abhorrence of the alliance. Paradoxically + the more vehemently Crane's love obtruded itself the more obnoxious it + became; it was something quite distinct from the man's own personality. + She did not detest him individually, for the honesty of his love impressed + her; mentally she separated Crane from his affection, anal while rejecting + his love absolutely as a compelling factor, appealed to him as a man + having regard for her, a woman he believed in. + </p> + <p> + It was a most delicate cleavage, yet unerringly she attained to its utmost + point of discrimination. Perhaps it was the strength of her love for + Mortimer that enabled her to view so calmly this passionate declaration. A + year before, unsophisticated as she had been, it would have thrown her + into an agitated confusion, but she was developing rapidly; responsibility + had tempered fine the great will power which was hers in such a marked + degree. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry, Mr. Crane,” she began, conventionally enough, “I am, sorry; I + couldn't marry a man without loving him. What you have just told me must + win regard for you, because I know that you feel strongly, and I think any + woman should take an offer of honest love as the greatest of all + compliments.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't even ask for your love now,” he interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you should. You shouldn't marry a woman unless she loves you. At + any rate I feel that way about it. Of course, if there were a chance of my + coming to care for you in that way we could wait, but it would be + deceiving you to give hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it because you care for—Mortimer?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is. I suppose if I am to help him I must be quite honest with + you. I do not want to talk about it—it seems too sacred. I have even + spoken less to Mr. Mortimer of love,” she added, with a painful attempt at + a smile. “You have said that you care for me, Mr. Crane, and I believe + you; you have been generous to my father, also. Now won't you promise me + something, just for the sake of this regard? I suppose it is impossible to + prove Mr. Mortimer's innocence”—she felt her own helplessness, and + who else could or would care to accomplish it “but it is in your power to + lessen the evil. Won't you take my word that he is innocent and stop + everything? As you say, either he or Alan must be suspected, and if it + were brought home to my brother it would crush me, and my mother and + father.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I do?—” + </p> + <p> + “Just nothing. I know Mr. Mortimer has determined to accept the disgrace, + and he will go away. You can make his load as light as possible, for my + sake.” + </p> + <p> + The small hand on his arm was drawing him to acquiesence. He did not + answer at once, but sat moodily diagnosing his position. If he refused and + prosecuted Mortimer, the girl, more determined than many men, would change + from a state of possibility, from simply not loving him, to a vigorous + hate. If he hushed the matter up Mortimer would go away under a cloud, and + his removal from the presence of Allis might effect a change in her + regard. He would accelerate this wished-for elision of love by procuring + absolutely indisputable proof of Mortimer's dishonesty. He saw his opening + to that end; he could do it under the guise of clearing the innocent one + of the suspected two; for Allis alone this would be. To him there was not + the slightest ground for supposing Alan had taken the money, but blinded + by her love, evidently Allis thought Mortimer was shielding her brother. + Though it was to Crane's best interests, he pretended to consent out of + pure chivalry. “What you ask,” he said, “is very little; I would do a + thousand times more for you. There is nothing you could ask of me that + would not give me more pleasure than anything else in my barren life. But + I could not bear to see you wedded to Mortimer; he is not worthy—you + are too good for him. I don't say this because he is more fortunate, but I + love you and want to see you happy.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was like a slim poplar. The strong wind of Crane's clever + pleading and seeming generosity swayed her from her rigid attitude only to + spring back again, to stand straight and beautiful, true to her love and + faith in Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “You are kind to me,” she said, simply; “I wish I could repay you.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps some day I may get a reward out of all proportion to this small + service.” + </p> + <p> + She looked fair into his eyes, and on her lips hovered a weak, plaintive, + wistful smile, as though she were wishing he could accept the inevitable + and take her regard, her gratitude, her good opinion of him and not wed + himself to a chimera which would bring only weariness of spirit in return + for his goodness. + </p> + <p> + “You will be repaid some day,” she answered, “for I feel that Mr. + Mortimer's name will be cleared, and you will be glad that you acted + generously.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this will give him a better chance,” he said, evasively; “it's not + good to crush a man when he's down. I will see that no one connected with + the bank shows him the slightest disrespect. Of course he'll have to go, + he couldn't remain under the circumstances—he wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + The horse had jogged slowly. Allis had purposely allowed the old Bay to + take his time. Unused to such a tolerance he had scandalously abused the + privilege; once or twice he had even cast longing glances at a succulent + bunch of grass growing by the roadside, as though it were a pure waste of + opportunity to neglect the delicacy for work when he had to do with such + indifferent overseers. But now Ringwood was in sight, and there was still + the matter of the money that had been paid on her father's note to speak + of. She asked Crane where it had come from. + </p> + <p> + “You won it over Diablo in the Brooklyn Handicap,” he answered, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “You won it,” she corrected him; “I refused to accept it.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember that eccentricity,” he replied. “I'm a busy man, and having + the money thrown back on my hands, as it was not mine, caused me + considerable inconvenience. I deposited three thousand of it against the + note to save both your father and myself needless worry. There are still + some hundreds due you, and I wish you would please tell me what I am to do + with it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd rather pay you back the three thousand now.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't accept it. I have enough money of my own to worry along on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wash my hands of the whole affair. When father gets stronger he + must settle it.” + </p> + <p> + They had turned into the drive to Ringwood House. + </p> + <p> + “We are home now,” she added, “and I want to say again that I'll never + forget your kind promise. I know you will not repent of your goodness.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Porter saw Allis and Crane together in the buggy; it pleased the good + woman vastly. Allis's success with Lauzanne had taken a load from her + spirits. She was not mercenary, but there had been so much at stake. Now + in one day Providence had averted disaster, and she had awakened from a + terrible nightmare of debt. The sunshine of success had warmed her + husband's being into hopeful activity, a brightness was over his spirits + that had not been there for months. It was like an augury of completed + desire that Crane should come the day of their good fortune with Allis. If + she would but marry him there would be little left to worry about. So it + was that Crane, perplexed by his recent love check, and Allis, mired in + gloom over her hero's misfortune, stepped into a radiancy of exotic + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + The girl bravely sought to shake off her gloom, chiding her heavy heart + for its unfilial lack of response. Crane, accustomed to mental athletics, + tutored his mind into a seeming exuberance, and playfully alluded to his + own defeat at the hands of Allis and the erratic Lausanne. There was no + word of the bank episode, nothing but a paean of victory. + </p> + <p> + Crane's statement to Allis that he was going out to Ringwood to see her + father was only an excuse. He soon took his departure, a stableboy driving + him back to the village. There he had a talk with the cashier. Mortimer + was to be asked to resign his position as soon as his place in the bank + could be filled. No further prosecution was to be taken against him unless + Crane decided upon such a course, “In the meantime you can investigate + cautiously,” he said, “and keep quite to yourself any new evidence that + may turn up. So far as Mr. Mortimer is concerned, the matter is quite + closed.” + </p> + <p> + The cashier had always considered his employer a hard man, and, in truth, + who hadn't? He could scarcely understand this leniency; he had expected a + vigorous prosecution of Mortimer; had almost dreaded its severity. + Personally he had no taste for it; still, he would feel insecure if the + suspected man, undeniably guilty, were to remain permanently in the bank. + His dismissal from the staff was a wise move, tempered by unexpected + clemency. If there were not something behind it all—this contingency + always attached itself to Crane's acts—his employer had acted with + fine, wise discrimination. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /><a name="link42" id="link42"></a> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + XLII + </h2> + <p> + Crane returned to New York, his mind working smoothly to the hum of the + busy wheels beneath his coach. + </p> + <p> + This degrading humiliation of his rival must certainly be turned to + account. With Allis Porter still believing in Mortimer's innocence the + gain to him was very little; he must bring the crime absolutely home to + the accused man, but in a manner not savoring of persecution, else the + girl's present friendly regard would be turned into abhorrence. In + addition to this motive he felt an inclination to probe the matter to its + utmost depths. It was not his nature to leave anything to conjecture; in + all his transactions each link in the chain of preparation for execution + was welded whole. He felt that it would be but a matter of manipulation to + environ Mortimer completely with the elements of his folly. He firmly + believed him guilty; Allis, misled by her infatuation, mentally attributed + the peculation to her brother. + </p> + <p> + The Banker would go quietly to work and settle this point beyond dispute. + He might have hesitated, leaving well enough alone, had he been possessed + of any doubts as to the ultimate results of his investigation, but he + wasn't. He reasoned that Mortimer had taken the thousand-dollar note + thinking to win three or four thousand at least over his horse, The + Dutchman, and then replace the abstracted money. Crane was aware that Alan + Porter had told Mortimer of The Dutchman's almost certain prospect of + winning; in fact, the boy had suggested that Mortimer had taken it for + this purpose. Mortimer would not have changed the note; would have taken + it straight to the race course. He must have lost it to some bookmaker + over The Dutchman. Crane knew the number of the stolen note. The three + one-thousand-dollar bills were new, running in consecutive numbers, B + 67,482-83-84; he had noticed that quite by chance at the time; it was the + middle one, B 67,483, that was missing. So he had a possible means of + identifying the man who had taken the money. Mentally he followed Mortimer + during the day at Gravesend. From Alan he knew of his winnings over + Lauzanne. + </p> + <p> + Crane reasoned that Mortimer, having risked the thousand on his horse, had + been told that Lauzanne might win. This had perhaps frightened him, and + being unfamiliar with the folly of such a course had backed two horses in + the same race—had put a hundred on Lauzanne at ten to one to cover + his risk on The Dutchman, feeling this made him more secure. He would + either win a considerable stake or have sufficient in hand to cover up his + defalcation. The first thing to do was to find the note if possible. Faust + would be the man for this commission. + </p> + <p> + Immediately upon his arrival in New York, Crane telephoned for Faust, + asking him to bring his betting sheet for the second last day of the + Brooklyn Meet. When Faust arrived at Crane's quarters the latter said, “I + want to trace a thousand-dollar note, number B 67,483. I think it was + betted on the Brooklyn Derby, probably on my horse.” + </p> + <p> + Faust consulted his betting sheet, Crane looking over his shoulder. “I + didn't have no thousand in one bet on that race,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What are those flgures,” asked the other, pointing to two consecutive + numbers of one thousand each. + </p> + <p> + “That was the other way about,” answered the Bookmaker; “that was pay. A + thousand to one hundred twice over Lauzanne. I think it must have been + stable money, for one of the guys was like a big kid; he didn't know + 'nough to pick a winner in a thousand years.” + </p> + <p> + The coincidence of this amount with the win attributed to Mortimer, + appealed to Crane's fancy. “You remember the man who made this bet, then?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sure thing. There was two of 'em, as you see. I remember him because + it took some explainin' to get the bet through his noddle. He was a soft + mark for a bunco steerer. I've seen some fresh kids playin' the horses, + but he had 'em all beat to a standstill. It must abeen first-time luck + with him, for he cashed.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you describe him?” + </p> + <p> + The Cherub drew an ornate verbal picture, florid in its descriptive + phraseology, but cognate enough to convince Crane it was Mortimer who had + made one of the bets. His preconceived plan of the suspected man's + operations was working out. + </p> + <p> + “Now find this thousand-dollar note for me,” he said; “take trouble over + it; get help if necessary; go to every bookmaker that was in line that + day. If you find the note, exchange other money for it and bring it to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be a chance,” commented Faust, scratching his fat poll + meditatively; “the fellows like to keep these big bills, they're easier in + the pocket than a whole bundle of flimsies. The next day was getaway-day, + an' they wouldn't be payin' out much. I'll make a play fer it.” + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon Faust reported at Crane's rooms with the rescued note + in his possession. He had been successful. “I give a dozen of 'em a turn,” + he said, “before I run again' Jimmie Farrell. He had it snuggled away next + his chest among a lot of yellow-backs, good Dutchman money.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know who bet it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not his name—some stranger; he'd know him if he saw him, he says.” + </p> + <p> + Crane grasped this new idea with avidity, the scent was indeed getting + hot. Why not take Farrell down to Brookfield to identify Mortimer. He had + expected the searching for evidence would be a tedious matter; his + fortunate star was guiding him straight and with rapidity to the goal he + sought. + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obliged to you,” he said to Faust. “I won't trouble you further; + I'll see Farrell myself. Give me his address.” + </p> + <p> + That evening the Banker saw Farrell. “There was a little crooked work over + that thousand Faust got from you,” he said, “an' if you could find time to + go with me for an hour's run into the country, I think you could identify + the guilty party.” + </p> + <p> + “I can go with you,” Farrell answered, “but it's just a chance in a + thousand. I should be on the block down at Sheepshead, but, to tell you + the truth, the hot pace the backers set me at Brooklyn knocked me out a + bit. I'm goin' to take a breather for a few days an' lay again' 'em next + week. Yes, I'll go with you, Mr. Crane.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning the two journeyed to Brookfield. + </p> + <p> + “I won't go to the bank with you,” Crane said; “I wish you would go in + alone. You may make any excuse you like, or none at all. Just see if the + man you got this note from is behind the rail. I'll wait at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + In fifteen minutes he was rejoined by Farrell. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He's there, right enough.” + </p> + <p> + “A short dark little chap?” questioned Crane, hesitatingly, putting Alan + Porter forward as a feeler. + </p> + <p> + “No. A tall fellow with a mustache.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead sure, unless he's got a double, or a twin brother.” + </p> + <p> + Crane felt that at last he had got indisputable proof; evidence that would + satisfy even Allis Porter. He experienced little exhilaration over the + discovery—he had been so sure before—yet his hand was + strengthened vastly. Whatever might be the result of his suit with Allis, + this must convince her that Mortimer was guilty, and unworthy of her love. + There was also satisfaction in the thought that it quite cleared Alan of + his sister's suspicion. + </p> + <p> + How he would use this confirmation Crane hardly knew; it would come up in + its own proper place at the right time, no doubt. + </p> + <p> + “We can go back now,” he said to Farrell; “we may as well walk leisurely + to the station; we can get a train”—he pulled out his watch—“in + twenty minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Crane had made up his mind not to show himself at the bank that day. He + wished to bold his discovery quite close within himself—plan his + course of action with habitual caution. It meant no increased aggression + against Mortimer's liberty; it was of value only in his pursuit of Allis + Porter. + </p> + <p> + As they walked slowly toward the station Crane met abruptly the girl who + was just then so much in his thoughts. Her sudden appearance quite + startled him, though it was quite accidental. She had gone in to do some + shopping, she explained, after Crane's greeting. + </p> + <p> + Farrell continued on when his companion stopped. A sudden determination to + tell the girl what he had unearthed took quick possession of Crane. His + fine sense of reasoning told him that though she professed positive faith + in Mortimer, she must have moments of wavering; it seemed only human. + Perhaps his presiding deity had put this new weapon in his hands to turn + the battle. He began by assuring her that he had prosecuted the inquiry + simply through a desire to establish the innocence of either Mortimer or + her brother, or, if possible, both. + </p> + <p> + “You understand,” he said, quite simply, “that Alan is like a brother—” + he was going to say “son,” but it struck him as being unadvisable, it aged + him. He related how he had traced the stolen note, how he had discovered + it, how he had brought the bookmaker down, and how, without guidance from + him, Farrell had gone into the bank and identified Mortimer as the man who + had betted the money. + </p> + <p> + “It clears Alan,” he said, seeking furtively for a look into the drooping + face. + </p> + <p> + The bright sun struck a sparkle of light from something that shot downward + and splashed in the dust. The girl was crying. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” he offered as atonement. “Perhaps I shouldn't have told you; + it's too brutal.” + </p> + <p> + The head drooped still lower. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't have spoken had it not been for your brother's sake. I didn't + mean to. It was chance drew you across my path just now. Though it is + cruel, it is better that you should know. No man has a right to deceive + you, you are too good. It is this very constancy and goodness that has + taught me to love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” she pleaded; “I can't bear it just now. Please don't talk of + love, don't talk of anything. Can't you see—can't you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know—you are suffering, but it is unjust; you are not fair + to yourself. If this man would steal money, what difference would your + love make to him? He would be as unfaithful to you as he has been to his + trust in the bank. You must consider yourself—you must give him up; + you can't link your young, beautiful life to a man who is only saved from + the penitentiary because of your influence.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk that way, Mr. Crane, please don't. I know you think that what + you say is right, but what difference does it all make to me? You know + what love is like, you say it has come to you now. My heart tells me that + Mortimer is guiltless. The time has been so short that he has had no + chance to clear himself. If I didn't believe in him I wouldn't love him; + but I still love him, and so I believe in him. I can't help it—I + don't want to help it; I simply go on having faith in him, and my love + doesn't falter. Can't you understand what a terrible thing it would be + even if I were to consent to become your wife? I know it would please my + mother. But if afterward this other man was found to be innocent, wouldn't + your life be embittered—wouldn't it be terrible for you to be tied + to a woman who loved another man?” + </p> + <p> + “But it is impossible that he is innocent, or will ever be thought so.” + </p> + <p> + “And I know that he is innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “Your judgment must tell you that this is only fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “My heart tells me that he is not guilty of this crime. My heart is still + true to him; so, shall I decide against myself? Don't—don't stab me + to death with words of Mortimer's guilt; it has no effect, and only gives + me pain. I must wait—we must all wait, just wait. There is no harm + in waiting, the truth will come out at last. But you will keep your + promise?” she said, lifting her eyes to his face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I meant no harm to Mortimer in searching for this evidence; it was + only to clear your brother.” + </p> + <p> + They had come to the station by now. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to speak to Mr. Farrell?” Crane asked. “You are taking my + word.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is useless. I can do nothing but wait; that I can and will do.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think me cruel,” Crane said, “but the wait will be so long.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be forever, but I will wait. And I thank you again for your—for + your goodness to me. I'm sorry that I've given you trouble. If you can—if + you can—make it easier for Mortimer—I know he'll feel it if + you could make him think that you didn't altogether believe him as—dishonest—will + you, for my sake?” + </p> + <p> + It was generally supposed that Crane's heart had been mislaid at his + inception and the void filled with a piece of chiseled marble; for years + he was a convert to this belief himself; but as he stood on the platform + of the primitive little station and looked into the soft luminous gray + eyes, swimming moist in the hard-restrained tears of the pleading girl, he + became a child. What a wondrous thing love was! Mountains were as + mole-hills before such faith. In the unlimited power of her magnetism, + what a trifle she had asked of him! With an influence so great she had + simply said, “Spare of censure this man for my sake.” In thankfulness + rather than in condescension he promised. + </p> + <p> + Even in disgrace—a felon—how Mortimer was to be envied! Above + all else was such abiding love. In his, Crane's, victory was the + bitterness of defeat; the other, beaten down, triumphed in the gain of + this priceless love. + </p> + <p> + A sharp material whistle, screeching through its brass dome on the + incoming train, cut short these fantastically chaotic thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, and thank you,” said the girl, holding out her hand to Crane. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he repeated, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + What had he accomplished? He had beaten lower his rival and wedded firmer + to the beaten man the love he prized above all else. In his ears rang the + girl's words, “Wait, wait, wait.” Irresponsibly he repeated to himself, + “All things come to them that wait.” + </p> + <p> + Seated in the car swift whirled toward the city, he was almost surprised + to find Farrell by his side. He was like a man in a dream. A vision of + gray eyes, blurred in tears of regret, had obliterated all that was + material. In defeat his adversary had the victory. He, Philip Crane, the + man of calculation, was but a creature of emotion. Bah! At forty if a man + chooses to assume the role of Orlando he does it to perfection. + </p> + <p> + With an effort he swept away the cobweb of dreams and sat upright—Philip + Crane, the careful planner. + </p> + <p> + “You nearly missed the train,” said Farrell. + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” questioned Crane, perplexedly. “I thought I got on in plenty of + time.” + </p> + <p> + Farrell smiled knowingly, as befitted a man of his occupation—a New + Yorker, up to snuff. The veiled insinuation disgusted Crane. Was + everything in the world vile? He had left a young life swimming hopelessly + in the breakers of disaster, buoyed only by faith and love; and at his + side sat a man who winked complacently, and beamed upon him with senile + admiration because of his supposed gallantry. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps a year before this moral angularity would not have affected him; + it would not have appealed to him as being either clever or objectionable; + he would simply not have noticed it at all. But Allis Porter had + originated a revolution in his manner of thought. He even fought against + the softer awakening; it was like destroying the lifelong habits of a man. + His callousness had been a shield that had saved him troublous misgivings; + behind this shield, even in rapacity, he had experienced peace of mind, + absence of remorse. If he could have put away from him his love for the + girl he would have done so willingly. Why should he battle and strive for + an unattainable something as intangible as a dream? It was so paradoxical + that Allis's love for Mortimer seemed hopeless because of the latter's + defeat, while his, Crane's love, was equally hopeless in his hour of + victory. + </p> + <p> + Farrell's voice drew him from this psychological muddle in tones that + sounded harsh as the cawing of homing ravens at eventime. + </p> + <p> + “Will it be a court case?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Crane, from his tangled elysium. + </p> + <p> + “That high roller in the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I can't say yet what it will lead to.” Crane's caution always + asserted itself first. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've been thinking it over. That's the guy, right enough, but when + it comes to swearing to a man's identity in court, it's just a bit + ticklish.” + </p> + <p> + Crane frowned. He disliked men who hedged. He always planned first, then + plunged; evidently his companion had plunged first, and was now verifying + his plans. + </p> + <p> + Farrell continued, “You see what I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” answered Crane, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “You will if you wait,” advised Farrell, a tinge of asperity in his tone. + “I'm makin' a book, say. All the blazin' idiots in Christendom is climbin' + over me wantin' to know what I'll lay this and what I'll lay that. They're + like a lot of blasted mosquitos. A rounder comes up an' makes a bet; if + it's small p'r'aps I don't twig his mug at all, just grabs the dough an' + calls his number. He may be Rockefeller, or a tough from the Bowery, it + don't make no difference to me; all I want is his goods an' his number, + see? But a bettor of the right sort slips in an' taps me for odds to a + thousand. Nat'rally I'm interested, because he parts with the thousand as + though it was his heart's blood. I size him up. There ain't no time fer + the writin' down of earmarks, though most like I could point him out in a + crowd, an' say, 'That's the rooster.' But sposin' a judge stood up another + man that looked pretty much like him, an' asked me to swear one of the + guys into ten years in Sing Sing, pr'aps I'd weaken. Mistaken identity is + like grabbin' up two kings an' a jack, an' playin' 'em fer threes.” + </p> + <p> + “Which means, if I understand it, that you're guessing at the man—that + I've given you all this trouble for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Crane wished that Farrell had kept his doubts to himself; the case had + been made strong by his first decision, and now the devil of uncertainty + would destroy the value of identification. + </p> + <p> + “Not by a jugful!” ejaculated Farrell. “I'm just tellin' you this to show + you that we've got to make it complete—we've got to get collateral + to back up my pickin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean some one else to identify him also?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not just that; but that's not a bad thought. My clerk, Ned Hagen, + must have noticed him too. I mean that the bettor's badge number will be + in line with that bet, an' you can probably find out the number of the + badge this rooster wore.” + </p> + <p> + An inspiration came with Farrell's words—came to Crane. Why had he + not thought of that before? Still it didn't matter. The badge number, + Mortimer's number, would be in Faust's book where had been entered the + hundred dollars Mortimer put on Lauzanne. He could compare this with the + number in Farrell's book; no doubt they would agree; then, indeed, the + chain would be completed to the last link. No man on earth could question + that evidence. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good idea, Farrell,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Bet yer life, it's clear Pinkerton. You'd better come round to my place + to-morrow about ten, an' we'll look it up.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” Crane answered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIII. + </h2> + <p> + The old bay horse that crawled back to Ringwood with Allis Porter after + her interview with Crane must have thought that the millennium for driving + horses had surely come. Even the ambition to urge the patriarch beyond his + complacent, irritating dog trot was crushed out of her by the terrible new + evidence the banker had brought in testimony against her lover. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't need this,” the girl moaned to herself. In her intensity of + grief her thoughts became audible in expressed words. “Oh, God!” she + pleaded to the fields that lay in the silent rapture of summer content, + “strengthen me against all this falseness. You didn't do it, George—you + couldn't—you couldn't! And Alan! my poor, weak brother; why can't + you have courage and clear your friend?” + </p> + <p> + Her heart rose in angry rebellion against her brother, against Crane, + against Providence, even against the man she loved. Why should he + sacrifice both their lives, become an outcast himself to shield a boy, who + in a moment of weakness had committed an act which might surely be + forgiven if he would but admit his mistake? yes, it might even be called a + mistake. The punishment accepted in heroic silence by Mortimer was out of + all proportion to the wrong-doing. It meant the utter ruin of two lives. + Firmly as she believed in his innocence, a conviction was forced upon her + that unless Alan stood forth and boldly proclaimed the truth the + accumulated guilt—proof would cloud Mortimer's name, perhaps until + his death. Even after that his memory might linger as that of a thief. + </p> + <p> + The evening before Alan had been at Ringwood and Allis had made a final + endeavor to get him to clear the other's name by confessing the truth to + Crane. On her knees she had pleaded with her brother. The boy had fiercely + disclaimed all complicity, protested his own innocence with vehemence, and + denounced Mortimer as worse than a thief in having poisoned her mind + against him. + </p> + <p> + In anger Alan had disclosed Mortimer's treachery—as he called it—and + crime to their mother. Small wonder that Allis's hour of trial was a dark + one. The courage that had enabled her to carry Lauzanne to victory was now + tried a thousandfold more severely. It seemed all that was left her, just + her courage and faith; they had stood out successfully against all + denunciation of Lauzanne, and, with God's help, they would hold her true + to the man she loved. + </p> + <p> + Even the pace of a snail lands him somewhere finally, and the unassailed + Bay, with a premonition of supper hovering obscurely in his lazy mind, at + last consented to arrive at Ringwood. + </p> + <p> + Allis crept to her father like a fearsome child avoiding goblins. + Providentially he had not been initiated into the moral crusade against + the iniquitous Mortimer, so the girl clung to him as a drowning person + might to a plank of salvation. She longed to tell him everything—of + her love for Mortimer, perhaps he had guessed it, for he spoke brave words + often of the sturdy young man who had saved her from Diablo. Perhaps she + would tell him if she felt her spirit giving way—it was cruel to + stand quite alone—and beseech him, as he had faith in her, to + believe in her lover. + </p> + <p> + Allis went to the tea table by her father's side, fearing to get beyond + his hearing; she dreaded her mother's questioning eyes. What could be said + in the accused man's defense, or in her own? Nothing; she could only wait. + </p> + <p> + A square old-fashioned wooden clock on the mantelpiece of the sitting room + had just droned off seven mellow hours, when the faint echo of its music + was drowned by the crunch of gravel; there was the quick step of somebody + coming up the drive; then the wooden steps gave hollow notice. The + visitor's advent was announced again by the brass knocker on the front + door. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” said Allis, as her mother rose. The girl knew who it was that + knocked, not because of any sane reason; she simply knew it was Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + When she opened the door he stepped back hesitatingly. Was he not a + criminal—was he not about to leave his position because of theft? + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” she said, quietly; “I am glad you have come.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I? I just want to speak to you for a minute. I said I would come. + But I can't see anybody—just you, alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” she answered. “Come inside.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” he began; “I can't stand it here.” + </p> + <p> + “You have done nothing—nothing to clear yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And you won't?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this wise?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + They were silent for a little; they were both standing. The girl broke the + stillness. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you have come, because I can tell you again that I know you are + innocent. I know it, because my heart repeats it a thousand times a day. I + listen to the small voice and I hear nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “You never waver—you never doubt?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “You never will?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I care not. Other men have had misfortune thrust upon them and have + borne it without complaint, have had less to solace them than you have + given me now, and I should be a coward if I faltered. Some day perhaps, + you will know that I am worthy of your faith: God grant that the knowledge + brings you no fresh misery—there, forgive me, I have said too much; + I am even now a coward. If you will say good-bye I'll go.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, my hero.” She raised her eyes, blurred with tears, and held out + her hand gropingly, as one searches in the dark, for the room whirled like + a storm cloud, and just faintly she could see the man's strong face coming + to her out of the gloom like the face of a god. He took her hand. + “Good-bye,” his voice vibrated brokenly; “if—if Justice wills that + my innocence be known some day, may I come back? Will you wait, believing + in me for a little?” + </p> + <p> + “Forever.” + </p> + <p> + He drew her to him by the hand he still clasped, and put his strong arms + about her. What mattered it now that he had been falsely accused—what + mattered it to either of them that he must accept the grim penalty of his + endeavor? With them in the soft gloom was nothing but love, and faith, and + innocence; and within the strong arms a sense of absolute security, as + though the false accusing world had been baffled, beaten down, and the + victory theirs—love. + </p> + <p> + He raised the girl's face and kissed her. “Let God witness that I press + your brave lips in innocence,” he said; “and in this pledge I love you + forever and ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” came from Allis involuntarily; it sounded to them both like the + benediction of a high priest. + </p> + <p> + “Amen,—” he responded. To speak again would have been sacrilege. + </p> + <p> + He put her from him gently, turned away and walked quickly from the house. + </p> + <p> + The girl sat for a long time a gray shadow in the gathering darkness. He + was gone from her. It seemed as though she had scarce spoken the + encouragement she wished to give him. It had been a meeting almost without + words; but she felt strangely satisfied. The accusing revelation that had + come from Crane in the afternoon had been a crushing blow. It was a + mistake, of course; it wasn't true—somehow it wasn't true, but still + it had stunned. Now in the gloaming she sat with an angel of peace; big, + steadfast, honest eyes, full of thankfulness, looked lovingly at her from + where he had stood. If she could sit there forever, with the echo of his + deep “Amen” to their love lingering in her ears, she would ask no further + gift of the gods. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer, as with swinging stride he hurried toward the village, let his + mind flit back to the room of gray shadows. How little he had said! Had + there been aught spoken at all? The strong arms still tingled with tender + warmth where the impress of an angel had set them thrilling ecstatically. + Yes, what mattered their speech? There had been little of the future—no + promise to send word of his well-being—but let the future look to + itself. In the present he was king of a love realm that was greater than + all the world. + </p> + <p> + Field after field flitted by, studded here and there by square, gray + specters of ghost-like houses that blinked at him with red dragon eyes. + Sub-consciously he knew the eyes were searching out the secret that made + him in all his misery of misfortune so happy. And he would answer to the + eyes, dragon or human, without fear and without shame—because he was + innocent—that it was love, the greatest thing in all the world, the + love and faith sublime of a good, true woman. Woman had he said?—an + angel! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLIV + </h2> + <p> + As Farrell had suggested, Crane sought him at the office the next day at + ten o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Farrell and his clerk were busy planning an enterprising campaign against + men who had faith in fast horses for the coming week at Sheepshead Bay. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” the Bookmaker exclaimed when Crane entered, “you want that badge + number. Hagen, get the betting sheet for the second last day at Gravesend, + and look up a bet of one thousand dollars we roped in over Mr. Crane's + horse. I want the number to locate the man that parted—I wish + there'd been more like him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Billy Cass?” queried the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil's Billy Cass?” + </p> + <p> + “Why the stiff that played The Dutchman for a thou'.” + </p> + <p> + “You know him?” This query from Farrell. + </p> + <p> + “I should say! He's a reg'lar. Used to bet in Mullen's book last year when + I penciled for him.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk brought the betting sheet and ran his finger down a long row of + figures. + </p> + <p> + “That's the bet. A thousand calls three on The Dutchman. His badge number + was 11,785. Yes, that's the bet; I remember Billy Cass takin' it. You + see,” he continued, explanatory of his vivid memory, “he's gen'rally a + piker—plays a long shot—an' his limit's twenty dollars; so, + when he comes next a favorite that day with a cool thou' it give me + stoppage of the heart. Damn'd if I didn't get cold feet. Bet yer life it + wasn't Billy's money—not a plunk of it; he had worked an angel, an' + was playin' the farmer's stuff for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, Mr. Hagen—did you know the man?” Crane asked. + </p> + <p> + “Know him? All the way—tall, slim, blue eyes, light mustache, hand + like a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the man,” affirmed Farrell; “that's the man—I saw him + yesterday in your place.” + </p> + <p> + Crane stared. For once in his life the confusion of an unexpected event + momentarily unsettled him. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you identified—which man in the bank did you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw three: a short, dark, hairless kid”—Alan Porter, mentally + ticked off Crane; “a tall, dark, heavy-shouldered chap, that, judged by + his mug, would have made a fair record with the gloves—” + </p> + <p> + “Was not that the man you identified as having made the bet?” interrupted + Crane, taking a step forward in his intense eagerness. + </p> + <p> + “Not on your life; it was the slippery-looking cove with fishy eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “Cass,” muttered Crane to himself; “but that's impossible—he never + left the bank that day; there's some devilish queer mistake here.” Farrell + had identified David Cass in the bank as the man who had bet with him, + while the clerk asserted that one “Billy” Cass had made the same wager. + Hagen's description of “Billy” Cass fitted David Cass in a general way. + Again the badge number—11,785—was not Mortimer's, as + registered in Faust's book. + </p> + <p> + Crane stood pondering over the complication. He saw that until further + investigation disproved it there could be but one solution of this + intricate riddle. Billy Cass, the maker of the bet, was a race track + frequenter; David Cass was not. They must be separate personalities; but + they resembled each other; they were of the same name—they might be + brothers. Billy Cass had been in possession of the stolen note; he must + have got it from some one having access to it in the bank—Mortimer, + Alan Porter, or Cass—the cashier was quite out of the question. + </p> + <p> + The next move was to trace back through Billy Cass the man who had + delivered to him the stolen money. There was still a chance that Mortimer, + unfamiliar with betting and possibly knowing of Billy Cass through his + brother in the bank—if they were brothers—had used this + practical racing man as a commission agent. This seemed a plausible + deduction. It was practically impossible that David Cass could have got + possession of the bill, for it was locked in a compartment of which + Mortimer had the key; the latter had admitted that the keys were not out + of his possession. + </p> + <p> + This far in his hurried mental retrospect Crane spoke to Farrell: “I think + this is all we can do at present. I may find it necessary to ask you to + identify this Cass, but I hope not to trouble you any further in the + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang the trouble!” energetically responded Farrell, with huge disclaiming + of obligation; “I'll spend time and money to down a crook any day; I've no + use for 'em; a few of that kidney gives the racin' game a black eye. If + you need me or Hagen, just squeak, an' we'll hop onto the chap if he's a + wrong one with both feet.” + </p> + <p> + Crane said nothing about the other number he had culled from Faust's book; + he said nothing about his suspicions of a brotherhood; he wanted to go + back to his quarters and think this new problem out. + </p> + <p> + What if in seeking for conclusive evidence against Mortimer he should + prove him innocent? He was treading upon dangerous ground, pushing out of + his path with a firebrand a fuse closely attached to a mine that might + explode and shatter the carefully constructed fabric. + </p> + <p> + Sitting in his own chamber he once more went over the whole extraordinary + entanglement. Mistaken as it was, Farrell's identification at Brookfield + must have strongly affected the mind of Allis Porter. At the time Crane + had played an honest part in recounting it to the girl. He had firmly + believed that Farrell, owing to his ambiguous report, had meant Mortimer; + in fact, Cass had not entered his mind at all. Even yet Mortimer might be + the guilty man—probably was. Why should he, Crane, pursue this + investigation that might turn, boomerang-like, and act disastrously. + Mortimer was either a thief or a hero; there could be no question about + that. As a hero, in this case, he was pretty much of a fool in Crane's + eyes; but Allis Porter would not look upon it in that light—she + would deify him. Crane would commit diplomatic suicide in developing + Mortimer's innocence. Again he asked himself why he should proceed. + Mortimer was guilty in the strong, convicting light of the apparent + evidence; better let it rest that happy way—happy for Crane. But + still would he rest satisfied himself? He was not accustomed to doing + things by halves. If Cass had stolen the money it would never do to retain + him in a position of trust. Then the devil of subtle diplomacy, familiar + at all times to Crane, whispered in his ear that he need not blazen to the + world the result of his further investigation; he might satisfy himself, + and then if Mortimer were found still deeper in the toils it might be + spoken of; but if he were found innocent—well, was Crane his + brother's keeper? He could adopt one of two plans to get at the truth; he + could trace out Billy Cass and extort from him the name of his principal; + but if startled, the latter might refuse to divulge anything. Police + pressure meant publicity. There was a better plan—Crane always found + a better plan in everything. If David Cass had stolen the money he must + have sent it to his brother; if that fact were established it would show a + connection between the two. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Crane took a train to Brookfield. A visit to the village + post office disclosed a hidden jewel. As far as Crane was concerned the + fate of the two men was held in the hollow of the postmaster's hand. The + latter, with little hesitation, allowed him to delve into official + secrets. + </p> + <p> + He learned that David Cass had sent a letter, with a quick-delivery stamp + on it, to William Cass, at A B C, East Fourteenth Street, New York, at + 3:30 p.m., on June 12. So far as guilt or innocence was concerned there + was nothing left to discover; the connection between these two men was + demonstrated. Farrell's misidentification established another truth—they + were brothers. The letter, hastening to its destination, had contained the + stolen money. Mortimer would not give it to Cass to send away; even if he + had done so he would not then have gone to Gravesend. Alan Porter had also + gone to Gravesend; if he had stolen the money he would have taken it with + him. + </p> + <p> + David Cass, the unsuspected, was the thief. Mortimer, condemned, having + restored the money—having taken upon himself with almost silent + resignation the disgrace—was innocent. And all this knowledge was in + Crane's possession alone, to use as he wished. The fate of his rival was + given into his hands; and if he turned down his thumb, so, better for + Mortimer that he had been torn of wild beasts in a Roman arena than to be + cast, good name and all, to the wolves of righteous humanity. + </p> + <p> + As a dog carries home a bone too large for immediate consumption, Crane + took back this new finding to his den of solitude in New York. At eight + o'clock he turned the key in his door, and arm in arm with his now + constant companion walked fitfully up and down, up and down, the floor. + Sometimes he sat in a big chair that beckoned to him to rest; sometimes he + raced with swift speed; once he threw himself upon his bed, and lay + staring wide-eyed at the ceiling for hours. What mockery—hours! on + the mantelpiece the clock told him that he had ceased his strides for a + bare five minutes. + </p> + <p> + Then he thrust himself back into a chair, and across the table opposite + sat Wrong, huge—grinning with a devilish temptation; not gold, but a + perfume of lilacs, and the music of soft laughter like the tinkle of + silver bells, the bejeweled light of sweet eyes that were gray, and all + the temptation that Wrong held in itself was the possession of Allis + Porter. + </p> + <p> + And Crane need commit no crime, unless inaction were a crime—just + leave things as they were. In the eyes of the world Mortimer was a thief; + he would never claim Allis so branded. + </p> + <p> + Crane with a word could clear the accused man; he could go to David Cass + and force him to confess. But why should he do it—sacrifice all he + held dear in life? Everything that he had valued before became obliterated + by the blindness of his love for the girl. Yet still the love seemed to + soften him. Into his life had come new, strange emotions. The sensuous + odor of stephanotis, that had not repelled in the old life, had come to + suggest a pestilence in his nostrils, made clean by the purity of lilac. + As he swayed in contention, the face of Wrong fronting him became the face + of Sin—repellent, abhorrent; how could he ruin her life, and by a + criminal act? + </p> + <p> + Hour by hour the struggle went on, until, exhausted, Crane flung himself + upon his bed to rest a few minutes, and sleep, unsought, came and hushed + the turmoil of his heart. + </p> + <p> + Without decision he had cast himself down; his mind, tortured in its + perplexity, was unequal to the task of guiding him. So wearied he should + have slept for hours, but, as the first glint of sunlight came through the + uncurtained window, he sprang from his couch with the call of an + uncompleted something in his ears. + </p> + <p> + But calm had come to him in his sleep; the question of right or wrong had + been settled. He tried to remember how he had come to the conclusion that + was alone in his rested mind. It must have been before he slept, though + his memory failed him, for as he slumbered Allis Porter had come with the + big gray eyes full of tears and asked him once again to spare Mortimer + humiliation for her sake. And he had answered, “He is innocent.” God! he + remembered it, even now it thrilled through his frame—she had bent + over and kissed him on the forehead. Yes, that was what had wakened him. + What foolish things dreams were. He had won just a kiss and had paid the + price of his love; and now waking, and in the calm of a conflict passed, + he had won over the demon that had tempted him with the perfume of lilacs. + He had striven to the point when further strife became a crime. He had + lost; but he would prove himself a good loser. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLV + </h2> + <p> + That day Crane went to Brookfield. + </p> + <p> + In spirit he was like a man that had been cast into an angry sea, and had + battled his way through hungry waves to shore. Saved, the utter weariness + of fierce strife hung heavy over his soul, and exhaustion deadened his joy + of escape. Just saved, bereft of everything, he looked back over the dark + waters and shuddered. And before him a dreary waste of desert shore-land + stretched out interminably, and he must wander alone over its vast expanse + forever. + </p> + <p> + Crane in all things was strong. It was strength drawn to right by the + influence of the woman he loved that had saved him from the waters that + were worse than the broad sands of a desolate life. But he still had + something to do, the final act made possible by his redemption. + </p> + <p> + At Brookfield he went to the hotel, secured an isolated sitting room + upstairs, and with this as a hall of justice, followed out with his usual + carefulness a plan he had conceived. First he wrote a brief note to Allis + Porter asking her to come and see him at once. One line he wrote made + certain the girl's coming, “I have important news to communicate + concerning Mr. Mortimer.” Then he sent the note off with a man. Next he + despatched a messenger for David Cass. He pulled out his watch and looked + at it. It was three o'clock. “I think five will do,” he muttered; “it + should be all over by that time.” Another note addressed to Mortimer, + asking him to call at the hotel at five o'clock, went forth. + </p> + <p> + The village hotel throbbed with the pressure of unwonted business. The + proprietor surmised that a financial matter of huge magnitude was afloat—another + farm was being mortgaged, most like; more money for Ringwood probably, for + had not a buggy gone out there to bring some one in to the great + financier. Those race horses were the devil to put a man in a hole. + </p> + <p> + David Cass came, treading on the heels of a much-whiskied howler who had + summoned him. + </p> + <p> + “You sent for me, sir?” he asked of Crane. It may have been the stairs—for + he had come up hurriedly—that put a waver in his voice; or it may + have been a premonition of trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Take a seat, Mr. Cass,” Crane answered, arranging a chair so that a + strong light from the one window fell across the visitor's face. + </p> + <p> + The hostler who had shown Cass to where the big man awaited him lingered, + a jagged wobble of humanity, leaning against the door jamb. He expected an + order for “Red Eye,” as he had baptized strong drink since it had grown + familiarly into his being. “Oh!” exclaimed Crane, “I'd forgotten; here's a + quarter; much obliged. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + The hostler's unjointed legs, unstable because of recurrent debauchery, + carried him disconsolately to lower levels. The Banker must be sure of his + business, must have it well in hand, when he ignored the usual diplomatic + mollifying preparation of a drink. + </p> + <p> + The hostler had left the sitting-room door open; Crane closed it + carefully, and, sitting with his back to the window, said to the bank + clerk: “Mr. Cass, I am going to be very candid with you; I am going to + tell you that I have discovered you stole the thousand dollars Mortimer + has been accused of taking.” + </p> + <p> + Cass's face blanched a bluish white; his jaw dropped loosely like the jaw + of a man who had been suddenly struck a savage blow. His weak, watery, + blue eyes opened wide in terror; he gasped for breath; he essayed to speak—to + give even a cry of pain, but the muscles of his tongue were paralyzed. His + right hand resting on the arm of his chair, as Crane ceased speaking, fell + hopelessly by his side, where it dangled like the cloth limb of a dummy. + </p> + <p> + Crane saw all this with fierce satisfaction. He had planned this sudden + accusation with subtle forethought. It even gave him relief to feel his + suffering shifted to another; he was no longer the assailed by evil + fortune, he was the assailant. Already the sustaining force of right was + on his side; what a dreadful thing it was to squirm and shrink in the + toils of crime. A thought that he might have been like this had he allowed + Mortimer to stand accused flashed through his mind. He waited for his + victim to speak. + </p> + <p> + At last Cass found strength to say: “Mr. Crane, this is a terrible + accusation; there is some dreadful mistake—I did not—” + </p> + <p> + The other interrupted him. The man's defense must be so abjectly hopeless, + such a cowardly weak string of lies, that out of pity, as he might have + ceased to beat a hound, Crane continued, speaking rapidly, holding the + guilty man tight in the grasp of his fierce denunciation. + </p> + <p> + “You stole that note. You sent it, with a quick-delivery stamp to your + brother, Billy Cass, in New York, and he bet it for you on my horse, The + Dutchman, on the 13th, and lost it. Mortimer, thinking that Alan Porter + had taken the money, replaced it, and you nearly committed a greater crime + than stealing when you allowed him to be dishonored, allowed him to be + accused and all but convicted of your foolish sin. It is useless to deny + it, all this can be proved in court. I have weighed the matter carefully, + and if you confess you will not be prosecuted; if you do not, you will be + sent to the penitentiary.” + </p> + <p> + Cass, stricken beyond the hope of defense, rose from his chair, steadying + himself with his hands on the table, leaned far over it, as though he were + drawn physically by the fierce magnetism of his accuser, and spoke in a + voice scarce stronger than the treble of a child's: “My God! Mr. Crane! Do + you mean it, that you won't prosecute me? Did you say that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if you confess.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God—thank you, sir. I'm glad, I'm glad; I've been in hell for + days. I haven't slept. Mortimer's eyes have stared at me all through the + night, for I liked him—everybody liked him—he was good to me. + Oh, God! I should have gone out of my mind with more of it. I didn't steal + the money—no, no! I didn't mean to steal it; the Devil put it into + my hands. Before God, I never stole a dollar in my life. But it wasn't + that—it wasn't the money—it was to think that an innocent man + was to suffer—to have his life wrecked because of my folly.” + </p> + <p> + How it was coming home to Crane. Had he not dabbled his hands in the same + sin, almost committed it? + </p> + <p> + “You have never known what it is to suffer in that way. But let me tell + you all. I must. Then perhaps you will understand how I was tempted. For + years I have been ground in poverty. My mother and my sister, even my + brother have all looked to me. My brother should have supported them, but + all his money went on the race course, gambling. When I heard Alan Porter + tell Mortimer that your horse was sure to win, for the first time in my + life I felt a desire to get money that way. But I had no money to bet. + That day as I went into the vault I saw under a lower shelf—the + Devil drew my eyes that way—a bank note. I hardly knew it was a bank + note, for I saw but a piece of paper indistinctly in the dim light. I + picked it up. Oh, God! if I hadn't touched it! I looked at it. My heart + jumped in my throat and choked me; my head swam. In my ears were strange + voices, saying: 'Take it! Put it in your pocket!' Perhaps it was because + it was so large—a thousand dollars—perhaps it was because it + seemed lost, out of place, I don't know. I had handled thousands and + thousands before, and never felt that way. + </p> + <p> + “The devil voices that were in my ears said: 'This is your chance. Take + it, borrow it, no one will know. Bet it on the horse that will surely win, + and you will get many thousands; then you can replace it, and for once in + your life you will know what it is to have something of your own.'” + </p> + <p> + “I tried to put it back. I couldn't. The voices called me a fool, a + coward. I thought of my mother, my sister, what I could do if I had the + courage. I tried to take it in to Mr. Lane and say that I had found it. I + couldn't. Oh, my God! you don't know what it is to be tempted! You have + been successful, and don't know how miserably weak ill-fortune makes a + man. I yielded—I took it; then when its loss was discovered, and + Mortimer was accused, I tried to confess—I couldn't; I was a coward, + a traitor, a Judas. Oh, God!” + </p> + <p> + The overwrought man threw himself face down on the table in front of his + grim accuser, like a child's broken doll, and wept with great sobs that + shook his frame as the wind lashes the waters into turmoil. + </p> + <p> + An exultation of righteous victory swept through Crane's soul. He might + have been like that; he had been saved from it by his love for a good + woman. He could not despise the poor broken creature who confessed so + abjectly, because all but in deed he also had sinned. The deepest cry of + despair from Cass was because of the sin he had committed against his + friend—against Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + Crane waited until Cass's misery had exhausted itself a little, and when + he spoke his voice was soft in pity. + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Sit in your chair there and be a man. Half an hour ago I + thought you a thief—I don't now. You had your time of weakness, + perhaps all men have that; you fell by the wayside. I don't think you'll + do it again.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no! I wouldn't go through the hell I've lived in again for all + the money in the world. And I'm so glad that it is known; I feel relief.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is better that the truth has come out, because everything can be + put right. I was going to make you pay back the thousand dollars to + Mortimer—I was going to drive you from the bank—I was going to + let it be known that you had stolen the money, but now, I must think. You + must have another chance. It's a dangerous thing to wreck lives—” + </p> + <p> + “My God! it is; that's what haunted me night and day. I felt as though I + had murdered a man who had been my friend. I knew he thought young Porter + had taken it and was shielding him. The memory of the misery in Mortimer's + face at being counted a thief would have stuck to me if I had lived a + hundred years.” + </p> + <p> + Cass had interrupted Crane. When he ceased again out of exhaustion, Crane + proceeded, “Mortimer must be paid back the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll save and work my fingers off till I do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't. Those dependent upon you would starve. I'll attend to that + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will let me go without—” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't go.” + </p> + <p> + “My God! I'm to be prosecuted?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can stay in the bank. I don't think you'll ever listen to the + voices again; it's bad business.” + </p> + <p> + Cass sat and stared at the strange man who said these things out of silly + expressionless eyes that were blurred full of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can go right on as you have been. It will be understood that the + money was found, had been mislaid; I'll think that out. It's nobody's + business just now; I run the bank and you take orders from me. Go back to + your desk and stay there. I've got to tell Mortimer and Miss Porter that + you made this mistake, and Lane, too, I suppose, but nobody else will ever + know of it. I was going to make you sign a confession, but it's not + needed. You may go now.” + </p> + <p> + Cass rose, his thin legs seeming hopelessly inadequate to the task of + carrying his body, and said, “Will you take my hand, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will. Just do right from this on, and forget-no, better not + forget; remember that there is no crime like weakness; all crime comes + from weakness. Be strong, and listen to no more voices. But I needn't tell + you. I know from this out I can trust you further than a man who has never + been tried.” + </p> + <p> + At the door Cass turned and looked back at the man who had reached down + into the abyss, pulled him up, and stood him on his feet. The man was + sitting quite still, his back to the light, his head drooped, and Cass + could not see his face. He strove futilely for some adequate expression of + gratitude, but his senses were numb from the shock of what he had escaped; + he simply nodded twice toward the sitting figure, turned, and passed out + into the street, where the sunlight baptized him with warmth as though he + had been born again. + </p> + <p> + “Poor, weak devil!” muttered Crane; then he shivered. Had the imbecile's + talk of voices got on to his nerves? Surely a voice had whispered + derisively in his ear, “Which one is the poor, weak devil?” And in answer + within his soul Crane knew that the margin was indeed of infinitesimal + narrowness. Cass, hastened in his temptation, yielding to the first insane + impulse, not knowing that the damnation of a friend hung on his act, had + fallen. He, Crane, in full knowledge that two innocent lives might be + wrecked by his doing, had been kept to the right only after hours of + struggle, and by the supporting influence of a supreme love. To have + gained Allis Porter by the strategy of a villain could not be the method + of holy passion. To sacrifice his desire and give her back her lover was + love, love worthy of the girl. + </p> + <p> + For an hour he waited; then there was turmoil on the stairway; horses were + surely coming up. At the door a thick voice explained the diversion. The + hostler had again arrived, with an hour of increased drunkenness pulling + mercilessly at his erratic legs. + </p> + <p> + “John Porter's gal 'sh here, an'—an'—” the hostler wrestled + with the mental exercise that had been entrusted to his muddled brain. + He'd swear that she was there, for his eyes had seen her, two of her; and + also he had a hazy idea that when he essayed the stairs she had entrusted + to him some message. He groped fitfully among the wheels that buzzed in + his skull for the elusive something connected with her advent. The + heredity of habit came to his assistance. + </p> + <p> + “D'ye want a drink?” he asked, with a sudden brightening. + </p> + <p> + “Drink!” a voice cried. “I don't want any drink” A strong hand had him by + the collar, and the house was rocking violently to and fro; he could + scarcely keep his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up, you're drunk. Is Miss Porter down stairs?” + </p> + <p> + “Porter, Porter, yesh, Portersh gal; thatsh what I said. Whatsh matter + with you?—leg-go. Keep cool, don't get excited.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, get out—go down stairs!” And he did, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + Crane had followed him down. Allis was standing just within the hall door. + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Miss Porter,” he said. “It was good of you to come. I've + got something very important to tell you, and it's better that we have + quiet—it doesn't seem quite the usual order of things here. Should + you mind coming upstairs to the sitting room, where we shall be + undisturbed?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mind,” answered the girl, simply. + </p> + <p> + “Have a chair,” he said, motioning to the one Cass had lately sat in. + </p> + <p> + Crane did not take the other seat, but paced restlessly up and down the + room; it cooled the fever of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I hope it isn't more bad news, Mr. Crane,” Allis said; for her companion + seemed indisposed to break the silence. + </p> + <p> + “It is—” the girl started—“for me,” Crane added, after a + little pause; “and yet I am glad.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds strange,” Allis commented, wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “What I am going to say to you means the destruction of the dearest hope I + have in life, but it can't be helped. Now I wouldn't have it any other + way.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he stopped in his swift pace, faced the girl, and asked, “You are + quite sure you can't love me?” He was waiting for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “No, I can't—I hate to cause you misery, but I must speak the truth; + you have asked for it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you've answered honestly. I know it was foolish in me to ask the + impossible. Just one more question and then I will tell you why I brought + you here. Do you still believe in Mortimer's innocence—do you love + Mortimer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were to tell you that he is innocent, that I have discovered the + guilty one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God!” It was a cry of sudden joy, incapable of exact expression, + irrelevant in its naming of the Deity, but full in its exultation of soul. + Then, in quick transformation, the girl collapsed, as Cass had done, and + huddled in her chair, stricken by the sudden conviction that the crime had + been brought home to her brother. Her lover was guiltless; but to joy over + it was a sin, inhuman, for was not Alan the thief, if Mortimer were + innocent? + </p> + <p> + Crane understood. He had forgotten. He stepped quickly to the girl's side, + put his hand tenderly on her head; her big gray eyes stared up at him full + of a shrinking horror. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little woman!” he said, “your big, tender heart will be the death of + you yet. But I've got only good news for you this time. Neither Mortimer + nor Alan took the money—it was Cass.” + </p> + <p> + “They are both innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, both.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God, I thank Thee.” She pulled herself up from the chair, holding + to Crane's arm, and looking in his face, said, “You did this; you found + the guilty man for me?” + </p> + <p> + Crane nodded his head; and it came to the girl as she looked, that the + eyes she had thought narrow in evil grew big and round and full of + honesty, and soft with gentleness for her. + </p> + <p> + “How can I thank you—what can I do or say to repay you?” She knew + what it must have cost the man to clear his rival's name. + </p> + <p> + “It was your doing, Miss Allis; it is I who must thank you. You made a man + of me, brought more good into my life than had been there for forty years. + I will be honest. I did not do this of myself, my own free will. In my + love for you, and desire to have you with me always, I almost committed a + crime. I was tempted to conceal the discovery I had made; I knew that if I + cleared Mortimer you were lost to me. I struggled with temptation and fell + asleep still not conquering it. In my sleep I dreamed—I don't think + it was a dream—it was like a vision—you came to me, and when I + said that Mortimer was innocent, you kissed me on the forehead. I woke + then, and the struggle had ceased—the temptation had passed. I came + down here, and Cass has confessed that he took the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like it—would you think it wrong—it seems so little + for me to do—may I kiss you now, as I did in your dream, and thank + you from the bottom of my heart for making me so happy? It all seems like + a dream to me now.” + </p> + <p> + For answer Crane inclined his head, and Allis, putting her hand upon his + shoulder, kissed him on the forehead, and through him went a thrill of + great thankfulness, of joy such as he knew would never have come to him + had he gained through treachery even this small token of conquest. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, taking Allis by the arm, and gently drawing her back to + the chair; “now I am repaid a thousandfold for not doing a great wrong. + You have beaten me twice within a few days. I fancy I should almost be + afraid to be your husband, you master me so easily.” + </p> + <p> + “That's Mortimer coming,” Crane said, suddenly, as a step with more + consistency in its endeavor than pertained to the hostler's, sounded, + coming up the stairs. “I sent for him,” he added, seeing the look of happy + confusion in Allis's face. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” he called cheerily, in answer to a knock on the door. + </p> + <p> + “You sent for me—” Then Mortimer stopped suddenly, and stood staring + first at Allis, then at Crane, alternately, back and forth from one to the + other. + </p> + <p> + Crane turned his back upon the younger man and busied himself wondrously + over the manipulation of a chair. A strange dread crept into Mortimer's + heart; it smothered him; he felt dizzy. Why did Allis look so happy—why + were there smiles on her lips when she must know there were ashes of gloom + in his soul? Why was she alone there with Crane? Was it but another + devilish trick of the misfortune that pursued him? + </p> + <p> + “Good afternoon, Miss” the words stuck in Mortimer's throat, and he + completed his greeting with a most dreadfully formal bow. + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed outright; how droll it was to see a man trying to make + himself unhappy when there was nothing but happiness in the world. Through + the open window she could hear the birds singing, and through it came the + perfume of clover-buried fields; across the floor streamed warm, bright + sunlight from a blue sky in which was no cloud. And from their lives, + Mortimer's and her own, had been swept the dark cloud—and here, in + the midst of all this joy was her lover with a long, sad face, trying to + reproach her with a stiff, awkward bow. + </p> + <p> + Her laugh twirled Crane about like a top. He saw the odd situation; there + was something incongruous in Mortimer's stiff attitude. Crane had a big + cloud of his own not quite driven from his sky, but a smile hovered on his + thin lips. This happiness was worth catching. + </p> + <p> + Mortimer noticed the distasteful mirth reflected in the other man's face, + and he repeated with asperity, “You sent for me, sir—may I ask—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you take a chair,” said Crane, and he pushed the one he had been + toying with toward Mortimer. The latter remained standing. + </p> + <p> + Allis sprang forward and caught him by the arm—Crane turned away, + suddenly discovering that from the window the main street of Brookfield + was a most absorbing study. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so happy,” began Allis. Mortimer shivered in apprehension. Why had + Crane turned his face away—what was coming? How could she be happy, + how could anyone in the world be happy? But evidently she was. She stole a + quick look at Crane—to be exact, Crane's back, for his head and + shoulders were through the window. + </p> + <p> + Then the girl—she had to raise on her tiptoes—kissed the sad + man on the cheek. I'm ashamed to say that he stared. Were they all mad—was + he not standing with one foot in the penitentiary? + </p> + <p> + She drew him toward the chair, calling to Crane: “Will you please tell Mr. + Mortimer the good news. I am too happy; I can't.” + </p> + <p> + A fierce anger surged in Mortimer's heart; it was true, then—his + disgrace had been too much for Allis. The other had won; but it was too + cruel to kiss him. + </p> + <p> + Crane faced about, and coming forward, held out his hand to the man of + distrust. “I hope you'll forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer sprang to his feet, shoving back his chair violently, and stood + erect, drawn to his full height, his right hand clenched fiercely at his + side. “Shake hands? No, a thousand times no!” he muttered to himself. + </p> + <p> + Crane saw the action, and his own hand dropped. “Perhaps I ask too much,” + he said, quietly; “I wronged you—” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer set his teeth and waited. There were great beads of perspiration + on his forehead, and his broad chest set his breath whistling through + contracted nostrils. A pretty misdirected passion was playing him. This + was why they had sent for him—the girl he would have staked his life + on had been brought to believe in his guilt, and had been won over to his + rival. Ah—a new thought; his mind, almost diseased by unjust + accusation, prompted it—perhaps it was to save him from punishment + that Allis had consented to become Crane's wife. + </p> + <p> + “But I believed you guilty—” Mortimer started as Crane said this + “now I know that you are innocent, I ask—” + </p> + <p> + Mortimer staggered back a step and caught at the chair to steady himself. + He repeated mechanically the other's words: “You know I'm innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've found the guilty man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Alan—oh, the poor lad! It's a mistake—you are wrong. The + boy didn't take the money—I took it.” + </p> + <p> + Crane looked at him in admiration, an indulgent smile on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, my dear sir!” he exclaimed, dryly; “Alan did not take the money—neither + did you. Cass took it, and you wasted a day of the bank's time covering + the crime for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Cass took it?” asked Mortimer in a dazed way, looking from Crane to + Allis. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he has confessed, so you see he's ahead of you in that line” He went + on, speaking hurriedly: “I ask you to forgive me now for my suspicions. + Your innocence is completely established. You acted like a hero in trying + to shield Alan Porter, and I like men of that stamp. The thousand dollars + you paid in will be restored to you; it is yours. We will devise some + scheme for clearing up the matter as far as your good name is concerned + that will shield poor Cass from people who have no business in this + affair.” + </p> + <p> + “But how did Cass manage to get the note?” + </p> + <p> + “Found it on the floor of the vault, he says.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how it could have fallen out of the box, because the three + bills were pinned to the note.” + </p> + <p> + Crane drew forth a pocket book, and opening it took out the bill that had + been stolen. He examined it closely, holding it up in front of the window. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are mistaken,” he said, “there are no pin holes in this bill; + I see,” he continued, “the pin had not gone through this one; being + detached, in handling the box, it has slipped out.” + </p> + <p> + “It must have,” concurred Mortimer. “I remember in putting the box in the + compartment once I had to turn it on its edge; the bill being loose, as + you say, has slipped to the floor, and as the vault was dark I did not + notice it.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter,” added Crane. “I must go now. Good-bye, Miss Allis.” + </p> + <p> + Turning to Mortimer he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, and long happiness to you both,” he said; “I trust you will + think kindly of me and poor Cass. I am sure we are sorry for what has been + done.” + </p> + <p> + As Crane went down the stairs he wondered why he had coupled himself with + Cass. Was the difference so slight—had they been together in the + same boat up to the point of that silly, fantastic dream. Perhaps they + had. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLVI + </h2> + <p> + With the going of Crane an awkward restraint came over the two who were + left; the man who had suffered so much for the woman's sake, and the girl + who had endeavored so much. + </p> + <p> + He was like a man suddenly thrust into a new world of freedom; he indulged + in a physical manifestation of its exhilaration, drinking in a long, deep + draught of the clover-scented air, until his great lungs sighed with the + plethora. It seemed a lifetime that he had lived in the noisome atmosphere + of a felon's cell. But now the crime had dropped from him; a free man in + every sense of the word, he could straighten himself up and drink of the + air that was without taint. + </p> + <p> + Allis watched Mortimer curiously; she was too happy to speak—just to + look upon him standing there, her undefiled god, her hero, with his + heroism known and applauded, was a suffusing ecstasy. He was so great, so + noble, that anything she might say would be inane, tawdry, inconsequent; + so she waited, patiently happy, taking no count of time, nor the sunshine, + nor the lilt of the birds, nor even the dissolution of conventionality in + the unsupervised tete-a-tete. + </p> + <p> + The ecstatic magnetism of congenial silence has always a potency, and its + spell crept into Mortimer's soul and laid embargo on his tongue. He + crossed over to Allis, and taking her slender hand in his own, crouched + down on the floor beside her chair, and looked up into her face, just as a + great St. Bernard might have done, incapable of articulating the wealth of + love and gratitude and faithfulness that was in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Even then the girl did not speak. She drew the man's strong rugged head + close up to her face, and nestled her cheek against his. Love without + words; love greater than words. It was like a fairy dream; if either spoke + the gentle gossamer web of it would float away like mist, and of needs + they must talk of the misery that had passed. + </p> + <p> + In the end the girl spoke first, saying like a child having a range of but + few words, “You are happy now, my hero?” + </p> + <p> + “Too happy—I almost fear to wake and find that I've been dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's real,” he answered; “in dreams happiness is not so positive as + this. You did not doubt?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have waited?” + </p> + <p> + “Forever.” + </p> + <p> + “And now—and now, we must still wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Not forever.” + </p> + <p> + They talked of the wonderful necromancy the gods had used to set their + lives to the sweet music of happiness. How Lauzanne the Despised had saved + Ringwood to her father; how he had won Alan's supposed price of redemption + for Mortimer; how he had stood sturdy and true to the girl of much faith + and all gentleness. And the room became a crypt of confessional when she, + in penitence, told of her ride on the gallant Chestnut. + </p> + <p> + Just a span of Fate's hand from these two happy mortals, and twice the + sand had sifted through the hour glass, sat a man all alone in his + chamber. On his table was the dust of solitariness; and with his finger he + wrote in it “Forever.” But he looked fearlessly across the board, for + there sat no grinning demon of temptation, nor remorse, nor fear. But a + fragrance as of lilacs and of sweet clover coming through an open window + was in his nostrils; and in his memory was the picture of a face he loved, + made like unto an angel's with gratitude, and on his forehead still + burned, like a purifying fire, a kiss that reached down into his soul and + filled him with the joy of thankfulness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoroughbreds, by W. A. 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