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Unmistakably then it was fate that had cast the horoscope of his and Allis's life together. Never mind what means he might use to carry out this decree; once accomplished, he would more than make amends to the girl. He drew most delightful pictures of the Utopian existence his wealth would make possible for Allis.
What a frail little pair they were, both of them, and to be there battling for this rich prize that was so hardly fought for, by strong men athirst for gold, and great horses a-keen for the gallop! Ah, there was Diablo, the very number Allis had said carried no dread for her, thirteen. What a strange coincidence! What a cruel twist of fate it would be if he were to win! he looked equal to it.
Porter was a home-body, too, caring nothing at all for society at best there was but little of it in Brookfield except where it was connected with church work. Perhaps that was one reason why Allis had grown so close into her father's life. It was a very small, self-contained household. Mike Gaynor had become attached to the staff at Ringwood this winter as a sort of assistant trainer to Porter.
After he had gone, just as Allis was leaving the rail, she was again accosted; this time by Shandy. She trembled an instant, fearing that the small red-lidded ferret eyes would discover her identity. But the boy was too intent on trying to secure his ill-earned five hundred dollars to think of anything else. "Good mornin', boy," he said, cheerily. "I used to be in Dixon's stable.
"He was plucky; eh, girl?" "He fought the Black like a hero, father. But, father, you must never think bad of Lauzanne again; if he hadn't come Mr. Mortimer would have been too late." "It's dreadful, dreadful," moaned the mother. Allis shot a quick look at her father. He changed the subject, and commenced talking about Alan wondering where he was, and other irrelevant matters.
On the fourth Porter determined to ride the horse himself; he would not be beaten out by an ungrateful whelp like Shandy. In his day he had been a famous gentleman jock, and still light enough to ride work. "I don't like the idea, sor; it's not good enough," remonstrated Mike. But his master was obdurate. If Allis rode Lauzanne, why shouldn't he ride Diablo?
"You're like a caged bear, Alan," she cried, with a smile of impertinence; "I should hate to be shut up a day like this no wonder you're cross, brother." "I'm busy," he answered, curtly. "I'll see you after bank hours, Sis; I want to see you." "I've come to pay father's note, busy-man-of-importance," she flung back, with the swagger of a capitalist. "It's paid, Allis." "Paid! I thought "
Coming up the steps, just at her right, was a man who might have been walking in a quiet meadow, or a full-leafed forest, for all there was of agitation in his presence. A sudden new thought came to Allis; she had never seen that face distraught but once. The collected man was Philip Crane. A tinge of almost admiration tingled the girl's mind.
Why did the girl, Allis, with her jingling verse creep into his mind. Perhaps it was because she was so different from the woman who was always steeped in stephanotis.
And of the horses, Lauzanne, who would gallop for no one but Allis, would be brought back to Ringwood, to be petted and spoiled of his young mistress for the good he had done. Lucretia, when convalescent, would also come to the farm to rest and get strong. In the midst of it all Dr. Rathbone came in, and of course, man-like and doctor-like, with pretended pomposity, said: "I told you so.
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