we'll see Lucretia's number go up. Grant's a fool," he added, viciously.
"Didn't he break Fisher-didn't he break every other man that ever stuck
to him?"

"It's not Grant at all," replied Dixon, rubbing the palms of his hands
together thoughtfully--a way he had when he wished to concentrate in
concrete form the result of some deep cogitation--"it's Langdon, an'
he's several blocks away from an asylum."

"Langdon makes mistakes too."

"He cashes in often when he's credited with a mistake," retorted the
other.

"Well, I've played the little mare," asserted Porter.

"Much, sir?" asked Dixon, solicitously.

"All I can stand--and a little more," he added, falteringly; "I needed a
win, a good win," he offered, in an explanatory voice. "I want to clear
Ringwood--but never mind about that, Andy. The mare's well--ain't she?
There can't be anything doing with McKay--we've only put him up a few
times, but he seems all right."

"I think we'll win," answered the Trainer; "I didn't get anythin'
straight--just that there seemed a deuced strong tip on Lauzanne,
considerin' that he'd never showed any form to warrant it. Yonder he is,
sir, in number five--go and have a look at him."

As John Porter walked across the paddock a horseman touched the fingers
of his right hand to his cap. There was a half-concealed look of
interest in the man's eye that Porter knew from experience meant
something.

"What do you know, Mike?" he asked, carelessly, only half halting in his
stride.

"Nottin' sir; but dere's somebody in de know dis trip. Yer mare's a good
little filly, w'en she's right, but ye'r up against it."

Porter stopped and looked at the horseman. He was Mike Gaynor, a
trainer, and more than once Porter had stood his friend. Mike always had
on hand three or four horses of inconceivable slowness, and uncertainty
of wind and limb; consequently there was an ever-recurring inability to
pay feed bills, so he had every chance to know just who was his friend
and who was not, for he tried them most sorely.

Porter knew all this quite well; also that in spite of Mike's chronic
impecuniosity he was honest, and true as steel to a benefactor. He
waited, feeling sure that Gaynor had something to tell.

"There's a strong play on Lauzanne, ain't there, sir?"

Porter nodded.

"Sure t'ing! That Langdon's a crook. I knowed him when he was ridin' on
freight cars; now he's a swell, though he's a long sprint from bein'
a gentleman. I got de