ions, no
little interference in the race could destroy his horse's chance if he
were good enough to win. The Dutchman's races as a two-year-old would
not warrant his being made a favorite, and Langdon, properly directed,
was clever enough to see that The Dutchman was at a comfortable price
for betting purposes.

Many things had crowded into this year of Crane's life. The bank, doing
but a modest business always, was running so smoothly that it required
little attention from the owner. This was one reason why he had thrown
so much subtle energy into his racing; its speculation appealed to him.
The plucking he had received as a moneyed youth rankled in his heart.
The possession of such a faithful jackal as Langdon carried him to
greater lengths than he would have gone had the obnoxious details been
subject to his own execution. Though conscienceless, he was more or less
fastidious. Had a horse broken down and become utterly useless, he would
have ordered him to be destroyed without experiencing any feeling of
compassion--he would have dismissed the matter entirely from his mind
with the passing of the command; but rather than destroy the horse
himself, he probably would have fed him. And so it was with men. If they
were driven to the wall because of his plans, that was their own look
out; it did not trouble Philip Crane.

Porter he had known simply in a business way. From the first he had felt
that Ringwood would pass out of its owner's possession, and he had begun
to covet it. The Lauzanne race had been Langdon's planning altogether.
Crane, cold-blooded as he was, would not have robbed a man he had
business dealings with deliberately. He had told his trainer to win,
if possible, a race with Lauzanne, and get rid of him. That Langdon's
villainous scheme had borne evil fruit for John Porter was purely a
matter of chance selection. There was a Mephistophelean restitution in
not striving to wrest the Eclipse from Lucretia with The Dutchman.

And now, in this year, had come the entirely new experience of an
affection--his admiration for Allis Porter. It conflicted with every
other emotion that governed his being. All his life he had been
selfish--considering only Philip Crane, his mind unharrassed by anything
but business obstacles in his ambitious career. Love for this quiet,
self-contained girl, unadorned by anything but the truth, and honesty,
and fearlessness that were in her big steadfast eyes, had come upon him
sudde