II


It was the May meeting at Morris Park, and Morris Park is the most
beautiful race course in all America.

John Porter, walking up the steps of the Grand Stand, heard some one
call him by name. Turning his head, he saw it was James Danby, an
owner, sitting in his private box. Porter turned into the box, and
taking the chair the other pushed toward him, sat down.

"What about Lucretia?" asked Danby, with the air of an established
friendship which permitted the asking of such questions.

"She's ready to the minute," replied Porter.

"Can she get the five furlongs?" queried Danby. "She's by Assassin, and
some of them were quitters."

"She'll quit if she falls dead," replied the other man, quietly. "I've
worked her good enough to win, and I'm backing her."

"That'll do for me," declared Danby. "To tell you the truth, John, I
like the little mare myself; but I hear that Langdon, who trained
Lauzanne, expects to win."

"The mare'll be there, or thereabouts," asserted her owner; "I never
knew a Lazzarone yet much good as a two-year-old. They're sulky brutes,
like the old horse; and if Lucretia's beat, it won't be Lauzanne that'll