rom the course, leaned far
over its top to take a last look at the horses, and then with a queer
shuffling trot he hurried to the mob that was surging and pushing about
the bookmakers. Allis noted with minute observance each little act in
this pantomime of the last-minute plunge. Just beneath where she sat
two men were having a most energetic duel of words. A slim, darkskinned
youth, across whose fox-like face was written in large letters the word
"Tout," was hammering into his obdurate companion the impossibility of
some certain horse being defeated. Presently the other man's hand went
into his pocket, and when it came forth again five ten-dollar bills were
counted with nervous reluctance and hesitatingly made over to the Tout.
Tight clutching his prize this pilot of the race course slipped from
Allis's sight and became lost in the animated mass that heaved and
swayed like full-topped grain in a harvest breeze.

Within all that enclosure there seemed no one possessed of any calm. To
the quiet girl it was a strange revelation; no one could have as much at
stake as she had, and yet over her spirit there was nothing beyond
the lethargy of depression. No; no one is calm, she thought. Ah, the
assertion was too sweeping. Coming up the steps, just at her right, was
a man who might have been walking in a quiet meadow, or a full-leafed
forest, for all there was of agitation in his presence. A sudden new
thought came to Allis; she had never seen that face distraught but once.
The collected man was Philip Crane. A tinge of almost admiration tingled
the girl's mind. To be possessed of calm where all was nervous strain
was something.

Suddenly the unimpassioned face lighted up; the narrow-lidded eyes
gleamed with brightened interest. As eagerly as a boy their owner,
Crane, came forward and saluted Allis. At that instant the man of many
words on her left rose from his seat to chase through the interminable
crowd on the lawn a new victim.

Allis had sought to be alone in this short time of trial; she was hardly
sure of herself. If Lucretia failed she might break down; for what would
come to her father should the message home be one of disaster? Even if
the little mare won her joy might lead her to commit strange pranks; she
felt that her heart would burst out of sheer joy, if she did not shout
in exultation, or caper madly, as she had seen others do in the hour of
victory. She was sorry that Crane had come.

"I was looking for yo