Thoroughbreds | Page 9

got spurs on. That'll set the mare clean crazy."
He turned to Dixon, who was at his elbow: "Why did you let McKay
put on the steels?"
"I told him not to." "He's got them on."
"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.
"Well?" queried Porter.
"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."
"They refused to let the mare go back to the paddock?" queried Porter.
"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."
"I'm sorry, Andy," said Porter, consolingly.
"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."
"We've got to stand to it, Andy."
"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."
"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."
"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."
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"
"I can't," replied the other man, "my daughter is up there somewhere."
"I've played the mare," declared Danby, showing Porter a memo
written in a small betting book.
The latter started and a frown crossed his brown face.
"I'm sorry--I'm afraid it's no cinch."
"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."
"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.
"Here's a seat, Dad," cried the girl, cheeringly, lifting her coat from a
chair she had kept for her father.
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.

III
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