"I saw nothing else, father." She beckoned to him with her eyes, tipped
her head forward, and whispered: "Those people behind us have backed
Lauzanne. I think they're racing folks."

The father smiled as an uncultured woman's voice from one row back
jarred on his ear. Allis noticed the smile and its provocation, and
said, speaking hastily, "I don't mean like you, father--"

"Like us," he corrected.

"Well, perhaps; they're more like betting or training people, though."
She put her hand on his arm warningly, as a high-pitched falsetto
penetrated the drone of their half-whispered words, saying, "I tell you
Dick knows all about this Porter mare, Lucretia."

"But I like her," a baritone voice answered. "She looks a rattlin'
filly."

"You'll dine off zwieback and by your lonely, Ned, if you play horses on
their looks--"

"Or women either," the baritone cut in.

"You're a fair judge, Ned. But Dick told me to go the limit on
Lauzanne, and to leave the filly alone."

"On form Lucretia ought to win," the man persisted; "an' there's never
anythin' doin' with Porter."

"Perhaps not;" the unpleasant feminine voice sneered mockingly, with an