Part 46 (1/2)
He took a despairing look through the thicket of human beings that made a living forest all about, in a last endeavor to discover Alan Porter.
Not three paces away a uniquely familiar figure was threading in and out the changing maze-it was Mike Gaynor.
Mortimer broke from his friend, and with quick steps reached the trainer's side.
”I want to find Alan Porter,” he said, in answer to Gaynor's surprised salutation.
”He was in the paddock a bit ago,” answered Mike; ”he moight be there still.”
Almost involuntarily Mortimer, as he talked, had edged back toward his friend of disconsolate raggedness.
”I wanted to go in there--I'd like to go now to find him, but they won't let me through the gate.”
”No more they will,” answered Mike, with untruthful readiness, for all at once it occurred to him that if Mortimer got to the paddock he might run up against Allis and recognize her.
”De gent could buy a badge and get in,” volunteered Old Bill.
The lid of Mike's right eye drooped like the slide of a lantern, as he answered: ”He couldn't get wan now--it's too late; just wait ye here, sir, and if the b'y's there wit' the nags, I'll sind him out.”
Old Bill made no comment upon Mike's diplomatic misstatement anent the badge, for he had observed the wink, and held true to the masonry which exists between race-course regulars.
”Yes, please send him out then, Mr. Gaynor; it's important.”
”I'm in a hurry meself,” said Mike; ”I just come out fer a minute; see here,” and he nodded his head sideways to Mortimer. The latter walked by his side for a few steps.
”Who's that guy?” asked the Trainer.
”I don't know; he calls himself Old Bill.”
”Well, ye best look out--he looks purty tough. What's he playin' ye fer?”
”He advised me to bet money on Lauzanne.”
”The divil he did! What th' yellow moon does he know about the Chestnut; did ye back him?”
”Not yet.”
”Are ye goin' to?”
”I don't know. Do you think Lauzanne might come in first?”
A slight smile relaxed the habitually drawn muscles of Mike's grim visage; it was moons since he had heard anybody talk of a horse ”coming in first;” he was indeed a green bettor, this, young man of the counting house. What was he doing there betting at all, Mike wondered. It must be because of his interest in the girl, his reason answered.
”I tink he'll win if he does his best for her.”
”Does his best for who?”
Mike got to cover; his ungoverned tongue was always playing him tricks.
”Miss Allis is managin' the horses,” he explained, very deliberately, ”an' there's a new b'y up on Lauzanne's back, d'ye onderstand; an' if the Chestnut doesn't sulk, does his best fer the young misthress that'll be watchin' him here in the stand wit' tears in her eyes, he moight win--d'ye onderstand?”
Yes, Mortimer understood; it seemed quite clear, for Mike had been to some pains to cover up the slip he had made.