Her father nodded again.

"I wish I'd been a boy, so that I could have ridden Lucretia for you
to-day," Allis exclaimed with sudden emphasis.

"I almost wish you had, Little Woman; you'd have ridden straight anyway
--there never was a crooked one of our blood."

"I don't see why a jockey or anybody else should be dishonest--I'm sure
it must take too much valuable time to cover up crooked ways."

"Yes, you'd have made a great jock, Little Woman;" the father went on,
musingly, as he watched the horses lining up for the start. "Men think
if a boy is a featherweight, and tough as a Bowery loafer, he's sure to
be a success in the saddle. That's what beats me--a boy of that sort
wouldn't be trusted to carry a letter with ten dollars in it, and on the
back of a good horse he's, piloting thousands. Unless a jockey has the
instincts of a gentleman, naturally, he's almost certain to turn out a
blackguard sooner or later, and throw down his owner. He'll have more
temptations in a week to violate his trust than a bank clerk would have
in a lifetime."

"Is that why you put Alan in the bank, father?"

Porter went on as though he had not heard the daughter's query. "To make
a first-class jock, a boy must have nerves of steel, the courage of a
bulldog, the self-controlling honesty of a monk. You've got all these
right enough, Allis, only you're a girl, don't you see--just a good
little woman," and he patted her hand affectionately.