Thoroughbreds

Thoroughbreds

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thoroughbreds, by W. A. Fraser
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Title: Thoroughbreds
Author: W. A. Fraser
Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9088] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on September 4,
2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
THOROUGHBREDS ***

THOROUGHBREDS
by W. A. Fraser

Dedicated to a THOROUGHBRED MY WIFE

I
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Crane's latter-day racing had been successful--he made money