"His mother wished it," Porter said, simply.

"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 a.s.sociation 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."

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.

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."

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.

Porter had simply summed up the whole business in a very small nutsh.e.l.l.

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.

"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."

"Yes, John; you'll have to sell him right away; I'll be frightened to death while he's about the place."

"I shall never be a bit afraid of him," remonstrated Allis; "Shandy, who made all the mischief, has been discharged."

"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 n.o.body'd buy a man-eater."

"I'll buy him when you make up your mind, Mr. Porter," exclaimed Crane, somewhat eagerly. "I have n.o.body sweet enough to tempt his appet.i.te. In the meantime, Miss Allis, if I were you I should keep away from him."

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.

His mind worked somewhat faster than his fingers; several new problems had been given it to labor over within the compa.s.s 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

XIII

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

"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, m.u.f.fled 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 a.s.sured him the horse would win; in fact, he had backed him.

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.

Then there was Diablo, Crane said; his presence was a menace to Miss Porter.

"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--n.o.body 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."

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."

He had talked to Porter in the stable, and Mike, busy near by, heard that part of their conversation referring to the horses.

"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.

"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."

Porter smiled indulgently. This stable superst.i.tion did not appeal to him.

"It would a-broke the bad luck, sor, to have let him took the Black."

"It would have broken his bank, you mean, Mike."

"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 n.o.body. 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."

"I believe you're right, Mike," Porter answered, quietly, as he left the stable.

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.