his stables superintending the training of The Rogue. He was infinitely
worse than a mother with her first child. If the latter acts as if she
invented maternity, one would have thought the colonel had fashioned the
gelding as the horse of Troy was fashioned.

The Rogue's success meant everything to him--everything in the world.
He would be obliged to win. Colonel Desha was not one who believed in
publishing a daily "agony column." He could hold his troubles as he
could his drink--like a gentleman. He had not intended that Sue should
be party to them, but that night of the confession they had caught him
unawares. And he played the host to Mr. Waterbury as only a Southern
gentleman can.

That the turfman had motives other than mere friendship and regard
when proffering his advice and financial assistance, the colonel never
suspected. It was a further manifestation of his childish streak and
his ignorance of his fellow man. His great fault was in estimating
his neighbor by his own moral code. It had never occurred to him that
Waterbury loved Sue, and that he had forced his assistance while helping
to create the necessity for that assistance, merely as a means of
lending some authority to his suit. But Waterbury possessed many likable
qualities; he had stood friend to Colonel Desha, whatever his motives,
and the latter honored him on his own valuation.

Fear never would have given the turfman the entrée to the Desha
home; only friendship. Down South hospitality is sacred. When one has
succeeded in entering a household he is called kin. A mutual trust and
bond of honor exist between host and guest. The mere formula; "So-and-So
is my guest," is a clean bill of moral health. Therefore, in whatever
light Sue may have regarded Mr. Waterbury, her treatment of him was