Part 18 (1/2)

”But you haven't seen the best of them. Those on that side are two and three-year-olds--for my money, the older ones are more gracious.

Come, I'll show you. ”

She seemed only too ready to be led down the opposite row of boxes, dutifully admiring the geldings and mares. At the end of the row, a bay stallion reached confidently over the half-door to investigate Harry's pockets.

”This is old Cribb--a persistent devil. Still runs with the best of them though he could retire gracefully on his acc.u.mulated winnings.” Leaving her patting the stallion's nose, Harry went to a barrel by the wall.

”Here,”

he said, turning back.

”Feed him these.” Lucinda took the three dried apples he offered her, giggling as Cribb delicately lipped them from her palm. Harry glanced up--and saw Dawlish outside the tack room, standing stock-still, staring at him. Leaving Lucinda communing with Cribb, Harry strolled over.

”What's up?”

Now that he was beside him, it was clear Dawlish was staring at his companion, not him.

' G awd' s truth--it's happened. ”

Harry frowned.

”Don't be ridiculous.”

Dawlish turned a pitying eye on him.

”Ridiculous, is it? You do realize, don't you, that that's the~ first female you've ever shown your horses?”

Harry lifted a supercilious brow.

”She's the first female ever to have shown an interest.”

”Hah! Might as well hang up your gloves, gov'nor-- you're a gorier.”

Harry cast his eyes heavenwards.

”If you must know, she's never been to a race-meet before and was curious-there's nothing more to it than that.”

”Ah-hah. So you says.” Dawlish cast a long, defeated look at the slight figure by Cribb's box.

”All I says is that you can justify it any ways you want--the conclusions still come out the same.”

With a doleful shake of his head, Dawlish retreated, muttering, back into the tack-room.

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or frown. He glanced back at the woman, still chatting to his favourite stallion. If it wasn't for the fact they would shortly be surrounded by crowds, he might be inclined to share his henchman's pessimism. But the race-track, in full view of the mult.i.tudes, was surely safe enough.

”If we leave now,” he said, returning to her side, 'we can stroll to the track in time for the first race. ”

She smiled her acquiescence and laid her hand on his arm.

”Is that horse you were talking of--Thistledown-- running in it?”