millionaire owners assume the role of dictator, but Crimmins very seldom
lost his temper. The major was so boyishly good-hearted and bull-headed
that Crimmins had come to view his master's racing aspirations almost as
an expensive joke.

However, it seemed that the Carter Handicap and the winning by his
very good friend and neighbor, Colonel Desha, had stuck firmly in
Major Calvert's craw. He promised to faithfully follow his trainer's
directions and leave for the nonce the preparatory training entirely in
his hands.

It was decided now that Garrison should try out the fast black filly
Dixie, just beginning training for the Carter. She had a hundred and
twenty-five pounds of grossness to boil down before making track weight,
but the opening spring handicap was five months off, and Crimmins
believed in the "slow and sure" adage. Major Calvert, his old
weather-beaten duster fluttering in the wind, took his accustomed perch
on the rail, while Garrison prepared to get into racing-togs.

The blood was pounding in Garrison's heart as he lightly swung up on the
sleek black filly. The old, nameless longing, the insistent thought
that he had done all this before--to the roar of thousands of
voices--possessed him.

Instinctively he understood his mount; her defects, her virtues.
Instinctively he sensed that she was not a "whip horse." A touch of the
whalebone and she would balk--stop dead in her stride. He had known such
horses before, generally fillies.

As soon as Garrison's feet touched stirrups all the condensed, colossal