n she hadn't the ghost of a chance?"

"You're a little too hard on Redpath," remonstrated Allis; "he's just
been telling me that he didn't wish to punish the mare unnecessarily."

"His business was to win if he could, Miss," answered Mike, not at all
won over. "It was a big stake, an' he ought to've put up a big finish.
The Black would've quit if ye'd ever got to his throat-latch; he's soft,
that's what he is. An' just where ye could have won the race, p'r'aps,
ye quit ridin' an' let him come home alone. It's queer b'ys that's
ridin' now, Miss," Gaynor added, fiercely, nodding his head in great
decision, and, turning away abruptly, the petulant moroseness showing
deeper than ever in his wrinkled face.

"You mustn't mind Mike, Redpath," said Allis; "he's a good friend of our
family, and is upset over the race, that's all."

"I don't blame him," answered the jockey; "he would have rode it out and
spoiled your chance with the mare--that would have done no good."

"Still, I hardly like it," answered the girl. "I know you did it for
my sake, but it doesn't seem quite right. Don't do anything like this
again. Of course, I don't want Lucretia pushed beyond her strength, nor
cut up with the whip, but she ought to get the place if she can. People
might have backed her for the place, and we've thrown away their money."

"The bettors will look after their own interests, Miss Porter, and they
wouldn't help you a little bit if you needed it; they'd be more like to
do you a bad turn. If I'd driven the mare to death, an' been beaten
for the place, as I might have, the papers would have slated me for
cruelty. You must believe that I did it for the best, Miss."

"I do, and I suppose I must thank you, but don't do it again. I'd rather
you didn't carry your whip at all on Lucretia; she doesn't need it;
but don't ease her up if you've got a chance till you pass the winning
post."

As the two finished speaking, and moved away, a thin, freckled face
peered furtively from the door of stall number six. Just the ferret-like
eyes and a knife-thin nose showed past the woodwork, but there could be
no mistaking the animal. It was Shandy.

"I've got you again," he muttered. "Blast the whole tribe of you! I'll
just pip you on that dirty work, blowed if I don't."

XXVI

The Brooklyn had been run and won; won by Langdon's stable, and lost by
John Porter's. That night Allis spent hours trying to put into a letter
to her mother their