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Updated: May 10, 2025
Mortimer was growing weary; his mind, troubled by the frightful disaster that threatened Allis's family, wanted to draw within itself and ponder deeply over a proper course of action; so he answered: "My dear sir, I'm afraid you're mistaken. I never bet on races. But I thank you for your kind offer."
On Allis's other side one of the party was ticking off the horses by their numbers as they passed; "One, two, that's White Moth; they say she'll win; three, Red Rover; four, what's that? that's George L.; five, six, seven; just look at that little runt. What is it? Oh, Lucretia. Might as well run a big calf, I should think." "She's just lovely," declared a lady in the party.
Only for an instant; the forehead smoothed back into its normal placidity and his voice, well in hand, said, in even tones: "Good afternoon, Miss Porter. Are you going back to Ringwood?" and he nodded toward Allis's buggy. "Yes, I am. I'm going now. Good day, Mr. Mortimer," and she held out her hand. Mortimer hesitated, and then, flushing, took the gloved fingers in his own.
His knitted brows and air of hesitating abstraction showed plainly that this question of Allis's was one he would prefer to answer days later, if he answered it at all. "Didn't she stop suddenly?" Allis asked, again. "I couldn't just see from where I was what happened," he replied, evasively; "and I haven't asked the boy yet. She may have got shut in.
Allis's gaze dropped to the grass lawn in front of the stand for a minute, her eyes seeking repose from the strain of watching the horses as they went down to the starting post. How fretfully erratic were the men who dotted its green sward with gray and solemn black! The deeper interest Allis had over there on the course where was the little mare, seemed to lift her to a great height above them.
Allis's telegram proved that the doctor had understood the pathology of Porter's treatment, for he became as a cripple who had touched the garment of a magic healer. It was thus that Allis found him when she reached Ringwood. Oh, but she was glad; and small wonder. What she had done was as nothing; it shrank into insignificance under the glamourous light of the change that had come over the home.
A little thought, influenced by the desperate condition of Porter's fortunes, might make Allis amenable to what was evidently her best interest, should she be approached from a different quarter. Crane had made the first move, and met checkmate; the second move would be through Allis's mother; he determined upon that course.
Full of the terrible situation, Mortimer cared not who worked, so that he got away in time to save Allis's brother from himself. At last he was free. He almost ran to the station. Looking from the window of the bank, the cashier seeing Mortimer's rapid pace, muttered: "I guess the poor man's mother is pretty bad; I'm glad I let him go. He's a good son to that mother of his."
I hope father will soon be well again and that luck will change; but anyway, mother, I promise you that no matter what effort it costs me you sha'nt sacrifice the dear old place." Mrs. Porter's eyes were wet with tears of gratitude. She was thinking only of the redemption of the place through Crane; but Allis's words had meant far more than she had taken from them.
"Anyway, there's no hurry about switchin' the boy onto Lauzanne, so we'll settle that when you come back." Allis's visit to Ringwood was a flying one. Filial devotion to her father had been one motive, but not the only one. Her brother Alan's wardrobe received a visitation from hands not too well acquainted with the intricacies of its make-up.
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