Allis watched with nervous interest the investigation. She almost felt that if Lucretia liked her companion--well, it would be something less to dislike in him, at all events. Lucretia seemed turning the thing over in her mind, trying to think it out. There was some mystery about this new comer. Evidently she did not distrust him entirely, else she would have put her ears back a trifle and turned away with a little impatient warning shake of her delicate head. She always turned in that cross manner from Shandy, the stable boy. She had also discovered that the visitor was not completely a horseman; she did not investigate his pockets, nor put her head over his shoulder, as she would have done with Mr. Porter or Mike, or even with one who was a stranger, as was Mortimer, had she felt the unmistakable something which conveyed to her mind that he was of the equine brotherhood.
“Lucretia has found you out,” said Allis, presently. “You do like horses; she knows it.”
“Oh, I like animals, I don't deny,” Mortimer answered, “but I know very little about them--nothing about race horses.”
Mike frowned and looked disparagingly at the visitor. “He must be a quare duck,” he muttered to himself. That a man should know nothing of thoroughbreds was perfectly inexplicable to Gaynor. He knew many racing men whose knowledge of horseflesh was a subject for ridicule, but then they never proclaimed their ignorance, rather posed as good judges than otherwise.
But with startling inconsistency Mike explained: “There's many like ye, sir, only they don't know it, that's all; the woods is full av thim. Would ye like to give the filly a carrot, Miss?” he added, turning to Allis. “I'll bring some.”
When he returned Allis gave one to Lucretia, then they passed to the next stall.
“That's a useful horse,” explained the Trainer; “he's won some races in his 'time.”
“Game Boy. He's by the Juggler. Ye remember him, don't ye?”
Mortimer was forced to confess that he didn't quite remember Juggler.
“That's strange,” commented Mike, turning the big bay about with evident pride; “he won the 'Belmont,' at Jerome Park, did the ould Juggler. Ye must av heerd av that.”
Mortimer compromised by admitting that he had probably forgotten it.