t' tumbs up! ye'd a t'ought it was the flyin' Salvator."

"Well, we'll soon know all about it," declared Dixon. "There's the
saddlin' bell. Have you weighed out, Redpath? Weight all right,
ninety-two pounds?"

"All right, sir. It was a close call to make it, though; there was a few
ounces over."

"All the better; it's a hot day, an' if they're long at the post it'll
take them spare ounces out of you, I fancy."

Dixon held up his finger to the boy that was leading Lucretia, and
nodding his head toward the stall led the way.

"We're number seven, Mike," said Allis, looking at the leather tag which
carried the figure on Jockey Redpath's right arm.

"'There's luck in odd numbers, said Rory O'Moore,'" quoted Mike.

"I've a superstitious dread of seven," the girl said; "it's the one
number that I always associate with disaster--I don't mind thirteen a
bit."

"We'll break the bad luck seven to-day," asserted little Redpath,
bravely.

"I hope so," answered Allis. "Let me put my finger on the number for
good luck," and she touched the badge on his arm. "Now I'm going up to
get a good seat in the stand," she continued; "I'll leave Lucretia to
you, Redpath."

XXIV

As the slight figure, looking slighter still in a long trailing race
coat, passed through the paddock gate to the stand enclosure, Mike
Gaynor spoke to the jockey.

"Redpath, me b'y, it's up to ye to put yer best leg for'ard to-day. Ye'r
ridin' for the greatest little woman in this big country. In all the
stand up there, wit' their flounces and jewels, there isn't a lady like
her. Not wan av them judys kin touch her as a rale proper lady. God
bless me, she's de sweetest--" then he checked himself; he was going to
say the sweetest filly, but even to his rough-hewn mind, tutored only by
horse lore, it seemed sacrilege to speak of Miss Porter as anything but
a lady.

"You're right, Mike," concurred the little man; "I'd rather ride the
mare for her than White Moth, or The King, or any of the favorites for
their owners."

"An' the ould man lyin' there at home on his back, eh, Redpath? He's as
good as gold hisself; that's where the girl gets it; not sayin' a word
ag'in Mrs. Porter; she don't understand, that's all. But ye'll put up
the ride of your life, me b'y, won't ye?"

"I'll do that, old chap."

"Mike'll stand by ye," affirmed Gaynor. "Say, b'y," and he turned and
looked squarely into the eyes of the little man, "I know if they beats
ye to-