the world on Panchito, but he will bet it, through trusted agents,
in pool-rooms all over the country. The closing price here should be
such that the pool-rooms should pay Don Mike not less than fifteen to
one."

"So you've been his confidante, have you?" Parker scrutinized his
daughter quizzically.

"He had to take somebody into his confidence in order to have his plans
protected," she confessed blushingly.

"Quite so! Somebody with a deal of influence," Mrs. Parker
interjected. "John, this is simply delicious. That rascal of a Don
Miguel has reverted to type. He has put aside his Celtic and Gaelic
blood and turned Mexican. He tells people the truth about his horse
and a reporter with a sense of humor has advertised these truths by
writing a funny story about him and Panchito and the Indian imp."

"They'll have him up in the judge's stand for an explanation five
minutes after the race is won," Danny Leighton declared. "Panchito
will be under suspicion of being a ringer and the payment of bets will
be held up."

"In which case, dad," Kay reminded him demurely, "you and Mr. Leighton
will be furnished with an excellent opportunity to prove yourselves
heroes. Both of you will go to the judge's stand immediately and vouch
for Don Mike and Panchito. If you do not I shall--and I fancy John
Parker's daughter's testimony will be given some consideration, Mr.
John Parker being very well known to every racing judge in America."

"There are days," murmured John Parker sadly, "when I find it
impossible to lay up a cent. I have nurtured a serpent in my bosom."

"Tush! There are no snakes in Ireland," his humorous wife reminded
him. "What if Don Mike has hoisted you on your own petard? Few men
have done as much," and she pinched his arm lovingly.

CHAPTER XXXII

Four days before Thanksgiving Brother Anthony returned from El Toro
with Father Dominic's little automobile purring as it had not purred
for many a day, for expert mechanics had given the little car a
thorough overhauling and equipped it with new tires and brake lining at
the expense of Miguel Farrel. Father Dominic looked the rejuvenated
ruin over with prideful eyes and his saintly old face puckered in a
smile.

"Brother Anthony," he declared to that mildly crack-brained person,
"that little conveyance has been responsible for many a furious
exhibition of temper on your part. But God is good. He will forgive
you, and has He not proved it b