day, 'twon't be yer fault 'cause why?"--and he put his hand on
Redpath's shoulder-="'cause ye'r like many another man, sweet on the
young Missis. Now, now, now stop that!" and he held up his finger
warningly, as the other raised his voice in mild protest; "it's to
yer credit. It'll do ye no good in wan way, av coorse, for, as ye
say, she'll never know it." Redpath had not made the statement Mike
attributed to him, but the latter was giving him a kindly pointer. "But
it'll do ye no harm. The likin' av a good woman will sometimes make
a man av a scoundrel, but ye'r a long way from bein' that, me b'y; so
it'll do ye tons av good. There's the bugle; go an' mount, an' I'll
watch how ye get on; an' good luck to ye."

Regally, one after another, in stately file, the turf kings, decked out
with the silken jackets that rested a-top--crimson, and gold, and blue,
and white, and magpie, passed through the paddock gate to the newly
smoothed course. Very modest and demure number seven, the little brown
mare, looked beside the strong-muscled giants, bright bay, golden
chestnut, and raven-wing black, that overshadowed her in the procession
that caught the forty thousand pairs of eyes. Something of this thought
came to Allis, sitting in the stand. What a frail little pair they were,
both of them, and to be there battling for this rich prize that was
so hardly fought for, by strong men athirst for gold, and great horses
a-keen for the gallop!

Ah, there was Diablo, the very number Allis had said carried no dread
for her, thirteen. What a strange coincidence! What a cruel twist
of fate it would be if he were to win!--he looked equal to it. A man
sitting at Allis's elbow suddenly cried in a voice enthused into the
joyous treble of a boy's: "Look at that big Black; isn't he a beaut?
Number thirteen. That's a hoodoo number, if you like; it's enough to
give a backer cold feet."

"I thought you weren't superstitious, Rex;" this was a woman's voice.

"I'm not, an' I'm going straight down to back that Black, thirteen and
all."

On Allis's other side one of the party was ticking off the horses by
their numbers as they passed; "One, two, that's White Moth; they say
she'll win; three, Red Rover; four, what's that? that's George L.; five,
six, seven; just look at that little runt. What is it? Oh, Lucretia.
Might as well run a big calf, I should think."

"She's just lovely," declared a lady in the party. "She's as graceful as
a deer, and I'm s