n't you?"

"I guess I would, in the tightest corner ever was chiseled out."

"Well, you can trust the jockey that's going to ride Lauzanne just as
much. I know him, and he's all right. He's been riding Lauzanne some,
and the horse likes him."

"It's all Lauzanne," objected Porter, the discussion having thrown him
into a petulant mood. "Is Lucretia that bad--is she sick?"

"She galloped to-day," answered the girl, evasively. "But if anything
happens her we're going to win with the horse. Just think of that,
father, and cheer up. Dixon has backed the stable to win a lot of money,
enough to-enough to--well, to wipe out all these little things that are
bothering you, dad."

She leaned over and kissed her father in a hopeful, pretty way. The
contact of her brave lips drove a magnetic flow of confidence into the
man. "You're a brick, little woman, if ever there was one. Just a tiny
bunch of pluck, ain't you, girl? And, Allis," he continued, "if you
don't win the Derby, come and tell me about it yourself, won't you?
You're sure to have some other scheme for bracing me up. I'm just a
worthless hulk, sitting here in the house a cripple while you fight the
battles. Perhaps Providence, as your mother says, will see you through
your hard task."

"I won't come and tell you that we've lost, dad; I'll come and tell you
that we've won; and then we'll all have the biggest kind of a blow-out
right here in the house. We'll have a champagne supper, with cider for
champagne, eh, dad? Alan, and Dixon, and old Mike, and perhaps we'll
even bring Lauzanne in for the nuts and raisins at desert."

"And the Rev. Dolman,--you've left him out," added the father.

They were both laughing. Just a tiny little ray of sunshine had
dispelled all the gloom for a minute.

"Now I must go back to my horses," declared Allis, with another kiss.
"Good-bye, dad--cheer up;" and as she went up to her room the smile of
hope vanished from her lips, and in its place came one of firm, dogged
resolve. Allis needed much determination before she had accomplished the
task she had set herself--before she stood in front of a mirror, arrayed
in the purple and fine linen of her brother. She had thought Alan
small, and he was for a boy, but his clothes bore a terribly suggestive
impression of misfit--they hung loose.

Mentally thanking the fashion which condoned it, she turned the trousers
up at the bottom. "I'll use my scissors and needle on them to-night,"
she sai