," said Ned, the baritone. "I don't think
much of your Lauzanne, he's like a crazy horse."

Allis heard the woman's shrill voice, smothered to a hissing whisper,
answer something. Two distinct words, "the hop," carried to her ears.
There was a long-drawnout baritone, "Oh-h!" then, in the same key, "I
knew Lauzanne was a sluggard, and couldn't make out why he was so frisky
to-day."

"Dick's got it down fine"--just audibly from the woman; "Lauzanne'll try
right enough this time out."

"The mare's actin' as if she'd a cup of tea, too," muttered her
companion, Ned.

This elicited a dry chuckle from the woman.

Allis pinched her father's arm again, and looked up in his face
inquiringly, as from the seat behind them the jumbled conversation came
to their ears. Porter nodded his head understandingly, and frowned. The
stephanotis was choking his nostrils, and an occasional word was filling
his heart with confirmation of his suspicions.

"I don't like it," he muttered to Allis. "They've had four breaks, and
the mare's been left each time. The Chestnut's the worst actor I ever
saw at the post. But I'm thinking he'll leave the race right there, the
way he's cutting up."

"My God!" he exclaimed in the next breath. He had startled the girl with
the fierce emphasis he threw into the words; she sprang to her feet in
excitement.

A bell had clanged noisily, there was the shuffle of thousands of eager
feet; a hoarse cry, "They're off!" went rolling from tier to tier, from
seat to seat, to the topmost row of the huge stand.

"Lauzanne is off with a flying lead of three lengths, and the mare is
left absolutely-absolutely last. The boy whipped her about just as the
flag fell." There was the dreary monotone of crushed hope in Porter's
voice as he spoke.

"Yes, we're out of it, Little Woman," he continued; and there was almost
a tone of relief, of resignation. Suspense was gone; realization of the
disaster seemed to have steadied his nerves again. Allis attempted to
speak, but her low voice was hushed to a whisper by the exultant cries
that were all about them.

"Didn't I tell you--Lauzanne wins in a walk!" the falsetto voice was an
exultant squeak of hilarious excitement.

"You called the turn." Even Ned's baritone had risen to a false-keyed
tenor; he was standing on his toes, peering over the heads of taller men
in front.

Allis brushed from her eyes the tears of sympathy that had welled into
them, and, raising her voice,