"They're off!" exclaimed the baritone.

"Not this trip," objected the falsetto.

"The spurs--the young fiend!" fiercely ejaculated John Porter.

"What is it, father?"

"The boy on Lucretia is jabbing her with the spurs, and she's cutting
up."

"That's the fourth false start," said Ned, the baritone. "I don't think
much of your Lauzanne, he's like a crazy horse."

Allis heard the woman's shrill voice, smothered to a hissing whisper,
answer something. Two distinct words, "the hop," carried to her ears.
There was a long-drawnout baritone, "Oh-h!" then, in the same key, "I
knew Lauzanne was a sluggard, and couldn't make out why he was so frisky
to-day."

"Dick's got it down fine"--just audibly from the woman; "Lauzanne'll try
right enough this time out"

"The mare's actin' as if she'd a cup of tea, too," muttered her
companion, Ned.

This elicited a dry chuckle from the woman.

Allis pinched her father's arm again, and looked up in his face
inquiringly, as from the seat behind them the jumbled conversation came