Part 19 (1/2)

It occurred to Mortimer that whenever the discussion took broader lines, Dolman drew it back into the narrow cell of his own convictions.

Porter scratched his head perplexedly. They had been discussing the moral influence of racing; this seemed more like theology. ”It is certainly unchristian,” commented Mrs. Porter, severely. ”I haven't seen much Christian spirit in any business,” said Porter, quietly; ”they all seem more a matter of written agreements. In fact there's more done on honor in racing than in any of the business gambles. A man that's crooked in racing is sure to come to grief in the long run.”

Crane s.h.i.+fted in his chair, and Dolman coughed deprecatingly. ”For my part,” continued Porter, ”I've never found it necessary to do anything I'm ashamed of in racing.”

His wife saw an opening. ”But, John dear, you were treated most shamefully last year; a dishonest boy hauled your horse--”

”Pulled, mother,” interposed Allis; ”pulled father's horse, you mean.”

”Perhaps, though I fail to see where the difference can be, if the horse ran the other way and your father lost.”

Porter smiled indulgently. ”The boy was punished, Helen,” he said.

”Dishonesty is not tolerated on the race course.”

”Yes, but something is always happening,” she continued in lament. ”It's contrary to the law of the church, John. It seems just like a visitation of divine wrath the way things happen. And you're so sanguine, John; last year you were going to win a big race with Diablo when he threw his leg--”

”Threw a splint, mother,” prompted Allis.

”I thought your father said it was his leg had something the matter with it,” argued Mrs. Porter.

”The splint was on his leg, mother dear.”

”Well, I'm not familiar with racing phrases, I must say, though I should be, goodness knows; I hear little else. And talk of cruelty to animals!”

she turned to Mr. Dolman; ”they burned the poor beast's leg with hot irons--”

The minister held up his hands in horror.

”It didn't give him as much pain as the doctor gave Mr. Mortimer setting his arm,” declared Allis.

”But it was racing injured the horse's leg,” interposed Dolman.

”But your horse has got a ringbone, Mr. Dolman,” said Allis, ”and a spavin, too. I've been looking at him. That's because you drive him too fast on hard roads. And his feet are contracted from neglect in shoeing.

It's just cruel the way that poor old horse has been neglected. Race horses are much better taken care of.”

Allis's sudden onslaught switched Mr. Dolman from the aggressive to the defensive with great celerity.

”I confess I know very little about horses,” he was forced to apologize; then, with something of asperity, ”the spiritual welfare of my congregation takes up my entire time.”

This rebuke caused a momentary silence, and Dolman, turning to Mortimer, said, ”I hope you don't approve of racing, sir.”

Mortimer didn't, but a look from Allis's eyes inexplicably enough caused him to hedge very considerably in his reply.

”I know nothing about the race course,” he said, ”but from what I see of the thoroughbreds I believe a man would have to be of very low order if their n.o.ble natures did not appeal to him. I think that courage, and honesty, and gentleness--they all seem to have it--must always have a good influence. Why, sir,” he continued, with a touch of excitement, ”I think a man would be ashamed to feel that he was making himself lower than the horses he had to do with.”

Allis looked grateful. Even Porter turned half about in his chair, and gazed with a touch of wonderment at the battered young man who had subst.i.tuted common sense for sophistical reasoning.

The reverend gentleman frowned. ”It's not the horses at all,” he said, ”it's the men who are disreputable.”

Mrs. Porter gave a little warning cough. In his zealousness Mr. Dolman might anger her husband, then his logic would avail little.