them. They had protested the race. It had been thrown, and Garrison's
dishonor now was national.

There was a column of double-leaded type on the first page, run in
after the making up of the paper's body, and Garrison's bitter eyes
negligently scanned it. But at the first word he straightened up as if
an electric shock had passed through him.

"Favorite for the Carter Handicap Poisoned," was the great, staring
title. The details were meager; brutally meager. They were to the effect
that some one had gained access to the Waterbury stable and had fed Sis
strychnine.

Garrison crumpled up the paper and buried his face in his hands, making
no pretense of hiding his misery. She had been more than a horse to him;
she had been everything.

"Sis--Sis," he whispered over and over again, the tears burning to his
eyes, his throat choking: "I didn't get a chance to square the deal.
Sis--Sis it was good-by--good-by forever."



CHAPTER III.

BEGINNING A NEW LIFE.

On arriving at the Thirty-fourth Street ferry Garrison idly boarded a
Forty-second Street car, drifting aimlessly with the main body of Long
Island passengers going westward to disintegrate, scatter like