second to Colonel Desha's first.

The colonel's faith in Rogue had been vindicated at the last Carter
Handicap, and his owner was now stimulating his ambition for higher
flights. And thus far, the major, despite all his expenditures and
lavish care, could only show one county win for his stable. His friend's
success had aroused him, and deep down in his secret heart he vowed he
would carry off the next prize Colonel Desha entered for, even if it was
one of the classic handicaps itself.

Dixie, a three-year-old filly whom he had recently purchased, showed
unmistakable evidences of winning class in her try-outs, and her owner
watched her like a hawk, satisfaction in his heart, biding the time when
he might at last show Kentucky that her sister State, Virginia, could
breed a horse or two.

"I'll keep Dixie's class a secret," he was wont to chuckle to himself,
as, perched on the rail in all sorts of weather, he clicked off her
time. "I think it is the Carter my learned friend will endeavor to
capture again. I'm sure Dixie can give Rogue five seconds in seven
furlongs--and a beating. That is, of course," he always concluded, with
good-humored vexation, "providing the colonel doesn't pick up in New
York an animal that can give Dixie ten seconds. He has a knack of going
from better to best."

Now Major Calvert glanced up with a smile as Garrison entered.

"I thought you were in bed, boy. Leave late hours to age. You're
looking better these days. I think Doctor Blandly's open-air physic
is first-rate, eh? By the way, Crimmins tells me you were out on Midge