"I want to back Lucretia for the 'Eclipse,"' Crane said to the bookmaker.

"Lucretia," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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."

"Westley?" came wonderingly from Faust.

"Yes; Langdon owns The Dutchman now."

The Cherub pursed his fat round lips in a soft whistle of enlightenment.

It had staggered him at first that Crane, for whose ac.u.men he had a profound respect, should have intended such a hazardous gamble; now he saw light.

"Then my book is full on the Porter mare?" he said, inquiringly. Crane nodded his head.

"An' I lay against the Hanover colt?"

Again Crane nodded.

"It's not bookmaking," continued Faust.

"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."

"If the mare goes wrong?" objected Faust.

"I don't think she will, but you needn't be in a hurry--there's plenty of time."

"What's the limit?" asked Faust.

"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."

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.

VI

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.

"Even money!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dixon when his owner told him of the ring situation, "why, they're crazy. Who's doin' it?"

"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; n.o.body else knew of the mare's trial."

"Not on your life, Mr. Porter; Boston plays fair. D'ye think he could live at this game if he threw down his friends?"

"But n.o.body else even knew that we'd got a good boy for the mare."

"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 d.a.m.ned Langdon--he's not clever enough for all this. D'you know that The Dutchman's runnin'

in Langdon's name to-day?"

"He is?'

"Yes; he's supposed to own him."

"But what's that got to do with Lucretia's price?"

"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."

"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."

"That they shouldn't," a.s.serted 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."

"I think you're right Dixon. I'll go back and have a good bet down on her at evens."

But in five minutes Lucretia's owner was back in the paddock with the cheerful intelligence that the mare was now three to five.

"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."

"I think myself that the G.o.ds 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."

John Porter sat in the Grand Stand with his usual companion, Allis, beside him, as The Dutchman, Lucretia, and the other Eclipse horses pa.s.sed down the broad spread of the straight Eclipse course to the five-and-a-half furlong post.

Though Porter had missed his betting, he intuitively felt the joy of an antic.i.p.ated 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.

"Surely Lucretia will win to-day, father--don't you think so?" asked Allis; "I feel that she will."

"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."

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.

"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."

"Isn't the horse that beat her the other day in, too, father?"

"The Dutchman-yes, but I fancy his owner is backing my mare."

"Father!"

"It wouldn't make any difference, though; she'd beat him anyway. If I'm any judge, he's short."

Allis felt a rustle at her elbow as though someone wished to pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sage just beyond her father, now looking wistfully at the vacant seat on her left.

"Good afternoon, Miss Porter--how are you, Porter? May I sit here with you and see Lucretia win?"

"Come in, come in!" answered Porter, frankly.