Langdon cast a quick, significant, cautioning look at Crane as Porter spoke of the horse; then he said, “You're a fair judge, an' if you're right you get all the stuff an' no horse.”
“I stand to my bargain whatever happens,” Porter retorted.
“Get up, Westley,” Langdon said to his jockey, “they're going out.”
As he lifted the boy to the saddle, the Trainer whispered a few concise directions.
“Hold him steady at the post,” he muttered; “I've got him a bit on edge to-day. Get off in front and stay there; he's feelin' good enough to leave the earth. This'll be a matter of a couple of hundred to you if you win.”
“All out! all out!” called the voice, of the paddock offcial. “Number one!” then, “Come on you, Wesltey! they're all out.”
The ten starters passed in stately procession from the green-swarded paddock through an open gate to the soft harrowed earth, gleaming pink-brown in the sunlight, of the course. How consciously beautiful the thoroughbreds looked! The long sweeping step; the supple bend of the fetlock as it gave like a wire spring under the weight of great broad quarters, all sinewy strength and tapered perfection; the stretch of gentle-curved neck, sweet-lined as a greyhound's, bearing a lean, bony head, set with two great jewels of eyes, in which were honesty and courage, and eager longing for the battle of strength and stamina, and stoutness of heart; even the nostrils, with a red transparency as of silk, spread and drank eagerly the warm summer air that was full of the perfume of new-growing clover and green pasture-land.
Surely the spectacle of these lovely creatures, nearest to man in their thoughts and their desires, and superior in their honesty and truth, was a sight to gladden the hearts of kings. Of a great certainty it was a sport of kings; and also most certainly had it at times come into the hands of highway robbers.
Some such bitter thought as this came into the heart of John Porter as he stood and watched his beautiful brown mare, Lucretia, trailing with stately step behind the others. He loved good horses with all the fervor of his own strong, simple, honest nature. Their walk was a delight to him, their roaring gallop a frenzy of eager sensation. There was nothing in the world he loved so well. Yes--his daughter Allis. But just now he was thinking of Lucretia--Lucretia and her rival, the golden-haired chestnut, Lauzanne.