by her opinions. She referred to other tracks at Lexington and
Louisville as though they were, of course, something that everybody knew
about. The sun was hot, but Mrs. Owen did not seem to mind the heat a
particle. The superintendent looked the sorrels over carefully; they had
taken no end of ribbons at fairs and horse shows. Here was a team, Mrs.
Owen announced, that she was not afraid to show in Madison Square Garden
against any competitors in its class; and the superintendent admitted
that the Estabrooks were a fine stock. He nodded and kept repeating
"You're right," or "you're mighty right," to everything the old lady
said. It seemed to Sylvia that nobody would be likely to question or
gainsay any opinions Mrs. Owen might advance on the subject of horses.
She glanced over her shoulder as they were driving back toward the gate
and saw the superintendent looking after them.

"He's watching the team, ain't he, Sylvia? I thought I'd touch up his
envy a little. That man," continued Mrs. Owen, "really knows a horse
from an elephant. He's been trying to buy this team; but he hasn't bid
up high enough yet. It tickles me to think that some of those rich
fellows down in New York will pay me a good price when I send 'em down
there to the show. They need working; you can't do much with horses in
town; the asphalt plays smash with their feet. There's a good stretch of
pike out here and I'll show you what this team can do."

This promised demonstration was the least bit terrifying to Sylvia. Her
knowledge of horses was the slightest, and in reading of horse races she
had not imagined that there could be such a thrill in speeding along a
stretch of good road behind a pair of registered roadsters, the flower
of the Estabrook stock, driven by so intrepid and skillful a whip as
Mrs. Sally Owen.