stretched me half a point about the mare. He and Langdon are in the
same boat."

"But that won't win the race," remonstrated Danby. "Lauzanne is a
maiden, and Porter doesn't often make a mistake about any of his own
stock."

"I thought I'd come back and tell you," said Bob Lewis, apologetically.

"And you did right; but if the mare wins, and I'm not on, after getting
it straight from Porter, I'd want to go out and kick myself good and
hard. But put it on straight and place; then if Lauzanne's the goods
we'll save."

Lewis was gone about four minutes.

"You're on," he said, when he returned; "I've two hundred on the
Chestnut for myself."

"Lauzanne?"

"It's booked that way; but I'm backin' the Trainer, Langdon. I went on
my uppers two years ago backing horses; I'm following men now."

"Bad business," objected his stout friend; "it's bad business to back
anything that talks."

When John Porter reached the saddling paddock, his brown mare, Lucretia,
was being led around in a circle in the lower corner. As he walked down
toward her his trainer, Andy Dixon, came forward a few paces to meet