He stopped, and his face slowly relaxed. The hard, vindictive look slowly faded from his narrowed eyes.
“Sis,” he said softly. “Sis--I was going without saying good-by. Forgive me.”
He swung on his heel, and with hunched shoulders made his way back to Aqueduct. Waterbury's training-quarters were adjacent, and, after lurking furtively about like some hunted animal, Garrison summoned all his nerve and walked boldly in.
The only stable-boy about was one with a twisted mouth and flaming red hair, which he was always curling; a remarkably thin youth he was, addicted to green sweaters and sentimental songs. He was singing one now in a key entirely original with himself. “Red's” characteristic was that when happy he wore a face like a tomb-stone. When sad, the sentimental songs were always in evidence.
“Hello, Red!” said Garrison gruffly. He had been Red's idol once. He was quite prepared now, however, to see the other side of the curtain. He was no longer an idol to any one.
“In there.” Red nodded to the left where were situated the stalls. “Gettin' Sis ready for the Belmont opening.”
“Yeh. Promised a mount in th' next run-off. 'Bout time, I guess.”
There was silence. Garrison pictured to himself the time when he had won his first mount. How long ago that was! Time is reckoned by events, not years. How glorious the future had seemed! He slowly seated himself on a box by the side of Red and laid a hand on the other's thin leg.
“Kid,” he said, and his voice quivered, “you know I wish you luck. It's a great game--the greatest game in the world, if you play it right.” He blundered to silence as his own condition surged over him.
Red was knocking out his shabby heels against the box in an agony of confusion. Then he grew emboldened by the other's dejected mien. “No, I'd never throw no race,” he said judicially. “It don't pay--”
“Red,” broke in Garrison harshly, “you don't believe I threw that race? Honest, I'm square. Why, I was up on Sis--Sis whom I love, Red--honest, I was sure of the race. Dead sure. I hadn't much money, but I played every cent I had on her. I lost more than any one. I lost--everything. See,” he ran on feverishly, glad of the opportunity to vindicate himself, if only to a stable-boy. “I guess the stewards will let the race stand, even if Waterbury does kick. Rogue won square enough.”