h for the 'Eclipse,' sir, dashed if I don't. I
worked her the distance, and she shaded the time they made last year."

"What's the use," said Porter, dejectedly; "where'll we get a boy?"

"Oh, lots of the boys are straight."

"I know that," Porter answered, "but all the straight ones are tied hand
and foot to the big stables."

"I've been thinkin' it over," hazarded Dixon, tentatively--"Boston
Bill's got a good lad--there's none of them can put it over him, an' his
boss ain't got nothin' in the 'Eclipse,' I know."

"That means the same old game, Andy; we nurse the horse, get him into
condition, place him where he can win, and then turn him over to a
plunger and take the small end of the divide. Boston Bill would back her
off the boards.

"The stake'd mount up to seven or eight thousand, an' the win would
square the little mare with the public."

"And I'd do that, if I didn't land a dollar," said Porter. "Andy, it
hurt me more to see the filly banged about there in the ruck than it did
giving up the money."

The Trainer smiled. With him this was unusual; there was a popular
superstition that he never smiled except when one of his horses won.
But his heart expanded at Porter's words, for he, too, was fond of the
little mare.

Then Porter spoke again, abruptly, and fast, as though he feared he
might change his mind: "They downed me last trip, Dixon--I guess I'm
getting a bit slow in my paces; and you do just as you like--arrange
with Boston Bill if you think it's good business. He makes a specialty
of winning races--not pulling horses, and we need a win, too, I guess."

"Thank you, sir. We'll land that stake; an' p'raps the sharp division'll
take a tumble. I'll bet a dollar they'll go for The Dutchman--he ran a
great race the other day, an' he's in the Eclipse--if they start him.
Lurcetia's right on edge, she's lookin' for the key hole, an' may go
back if we don't give her a race. We'd better get the money for the oat
bill while it's in sight. She oughter be a long price in the bettin',
too," continued Dixon, meditatively; "the public soon sour on a beaten
horse. You'll have a chance to get even."

"I don't like that part of it," muttered Porter; "I'm in the black books
now. People have no reason at all--no sense; they've got it into their
heads that dirty job was of my making, and if the filly starts at ten to
one, and I win a bit, they'll howl."

"You can't make a success of racin', sir, an' run your stable