Part 43 (1/2)

The rosy hue of eager joyousness that had crept into Gaynor's suntanned face vanished; his jaw drooped, and a pathetic look of sheepish apology followed.

”That's so,” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, mournfully; ”bot' tumbs up! but it's a pity.

Carson's an Irish gintleman, an' if I could till him ye was a gurl, he'd knock the head plumb off any b'y that 'ud bother ye. Ye'd git away well, too.”

Then the girl told Mike all that Shandy and Langdon had said. It only confirmed Mike's opinion that between them they had poisoned Lucretia.

He felt that with a little more evidence he would be able to prove both crimes--the one with Diablo and the one with Lucretia.

The Brooklyn Derby was to be run the next day. Allis was glad that it was so near; she dreaded discovery. She was like a hunted hare, dodging everyone she fancied might discover her ident.i.ty. She would have to run the gauntlet of many eyes while weighing for the race, and at the time of going out; even when she returned, especially if she won. But in the excitement over the race, people would not have time to devote to a strange jockey's visage. She could quite smear her face with dirt, for that seemed a natural condition where boys were riding perhaps several races in one afternoon. The jockey cap with its big peak well pulled down over her head would add materially to her disguise. Mike would fetch and carry for her, so that she would be in evidence for very few minutes at most. Dixon even, opposed to the idea as he had been at first, now a.s.sured her quite confidently that n.o.body would make her out.

”It's the horses they look at,” he said, ”and the colors. An apprentice boy doesn't cut much ice, I can tell you. Why, I've been racin' for years,” he went on with the intent of giving her confidence, ”an' many a time I see a boy up on a horse that must have rode on the tracks over a hundred times, an' I can't name him to save my neck.”

At any rate there was nothing more to do until she made the great endeavor, until she went to the track at the time set for the Brooklyn Derby, dressed in the blue jacket with the white stars of her father's racing colors; that was the plan adopted. A buggy, with Mike driving, would take her straight to the paddock quite in time for the race.

x.x.xIII

After Crane left the money for Porter's note with Mortimer the latter took the three one-thousand-dollar bills, pinned them to the note, placed them in a cigar box and put the box away carefully in the bank safe, to remain there until the 14th of June, when it became due.

Incidentally Mortimer mentioned this matter to Alan Porter.

Crane in writing to the cas.h.i.+er about other affairs of the bank touched upon the subject of Porter's obligation, stating that he had left the money with Mr. Mortimer to meet the note when it matured.

The day before the Derby, the 12th of the month, Alan asked his day's leave and got it. The cas.h.i.+er more readily granted Alan's request, as Crane had intimated in his letter that it would please him if the lad were to have a holiday.

Alan went up to New York that evening. Earlier in the day he somewhat hesitatingly confided to Mortimer that he had backed Lucretia when she was well and looked to have a good chance to win her race; now she was scratched, and his money was lost. Bearing in mind what Crane had said about The Dutchman's chances of winning, even with Lucretia in the race, he felt now that it appeared almost like a certainty for Crane's horse.

If he could have a bet on The Dutchman he would surely recoup his losses. Alan explained all these racing matters very minutely and with great earnestness to Mortimer, for the latter was quite unfamiliar with the science of race gambling. Having stated his predicament and hoped-for relief, as an excuse for so doing, he wound up by asking his companion for a loan of two hundred dollars.

Mortimer had little less horror of betting and its evil influence than Mrs. Porter, but under the circ.u.mstances he would perhaps have complied with the boy's request had he been provided with sufficient funds. As it was, he said: ”I don't like the idea of lending you money to bet with, Alan; your mother wouldn't thank me for doing so; besides, if you lost it you'd feel uncomfortable owing me the money. At any rate, I haven't got it. I couldn't lend you two hundred, or half of it. I suppose I haven't got a hundred to my credit.”

”Oh, never mind then,” answered Alan, angrily, stiffening up, because of Mortimer's lecture.

”I'll lend you what I've got.”

”I don't want it. I can get it some other place.”

”You'd better take--”

”Take nothing--I don't want it.”

”Very well, I'm sorry I can't oblige you. But take my advice and don't bet at all; it'll only get you into trouble.”

”Thanks; I don't need your advice. I was a fool to ask you for the money.”

”I say, Alan,” began Mortimer, in a coaxing tone.

”Please don't 'Alan' me any more. I can get along without your money and without your friends.h.i.+p; I don't want either.”

Mortimer remained silent. What was the use of angering the boy further?

He would come to see that he had meant it in good part, and would be all right in a day or two.