Part 47 (1/2)
”I'll do it,” declared Faust, impatiently. ”Ten hundred to one, Lauzanne!” he called over his shoulder to his clerk, taking the bettor's money; ”an' the number is--?”
”Twenty-five, tree-four-six!” answered Old Bill. ”Pa.s.s him yer dust,” he continued, turning to his companion.
The latter handed his money to Faust.
”Lauzanne!” advised Old Bill.
”A thousand-to-hundred-Lauzanne, win; an' the number is” he stretched out his hand, and turning over Mortimer's dangling badge, read aloud, ”Twenty-five, three-five-seven.”
He took a sharp look at the two men; his practised eye told him they were not plungers, more of the cla.s.s that usually bet ten dollars at the outside; they were evidently betting on information; two one-hundred-dollar bets coming together on Lauzanne probably meant stable money.
”Let's git out, mister,” cried Old Bill, clutching Mortimer's arm.
”Don't I get anything--a receipt, or--”
Faust heard this and laughed derisively. ”You won't need nothin' to show for this money,” he said.
”We'll be roun' at de back in a few minutes fer a couple of t'ou',”
retorted Old Bill. ”Let's cut trough here,” he added to his companion, making a pa.s.sage between the bookmakers.
Bill's knowledge of the local geography was good, and skirting the crowd they were soon out on the lawn.
”Let's watch de parade,” Mortimer's adjutant suggested, and he led the way down to the course, where they stood against the rail, waiting.
x.x.xV
During this time there was a bustle of much interest in the paddock.
Allis, ready dressed in the Porter colors, had been driven to the course half an hour before the time set for the Derby. Her face was as satisfactorily disguised with dust as though she had ridden three races.
Mike a.s.siduously attended to every detail; even the weighing, thanks to his officious care, was a matter of not more than one minute. The girl's weight was one hundred and ten pounds, the saddle brought it up to one hundred and thirteen. She would have to ride at least two pounds overweight, for the horse's impost was one hundred and eleven. Lauzanne was being led in a circle by a boy, so Allis s.h.i.+elded herself from the general gaze in his empty stall. She felt quite sure that n.o.body there would recognize her, unless, perhaps, Philip Crane. He was rarely seen in the paddock, but might this day come out to view The Dutchman. The latter horse came in for a great deal of attention, for he had been steadily backed down to the position of equal favorite with White Moth.
At last there was the summons to saddle, and Lauzanne was brought into the stall by Dixon. Then the door was shrouded by an ever-changing semicircle of curious observers. Allis gave a little start and turned her head away as Crane, pus.h.i.+ng through the others, stood just inside the stall and spoke to Dixon.
”Your horse looks very well; I hope you win, if I don't.”
”He's as good as we could make him,” answered the Trainer, as he adjusted the weight cloth.
”Is Miss Porter here?” were Crane's next words, quite in the tone of a casually interested friend.
”She may be in the stand,” Dixon answered, without turning his head.
Mike had deliberately interposed his body between Allis and the doorway.
To the girl's relief, without further comment, Crane quietly moved away.
”Excuse me, Al, fer standin' in front av ye,” said Mike, ”but these outsiders is enough to make a b'y narvous the way they stare at him.
Alan Porter was in the paddock a minute ago askin' fer his sister, but I hustled him out, telling him ye--I mean she--was in the stand.”
”Thank you, Mike; you're a good friend,” replied the girl, gratefully.
Dixon had never taken so much care over the preparation of a horse for a race in all his life; and at last everything was as perfect as it could possibly be made. Lauzanne's behavior gladdened the girl's heart; he was as supremely indifferent to the saddling, to the staring of the people, to the scent of battle that was in the soft summer air, as though he were in his own stable at home. Not a muscle of his huge flank trembled.
Once, as the bridle rein was loosened for an instant, he half turned in the stall, curved his neck and stretched his golden nozzle toward the small figure in blue silk, as though he fain would make sure by scent that one of his natural enemies, a man jockey, had not been thrust upon him. Allis understood this questioning movement, and reaching out her hand rubbed the gray velvet of his nose. But for the restraining rein, tightened quickly by the boy who held him, Lauzanne would have snuggled his head against his little mistress.