"No, you won't, Alan--you're too young to gabble."

Philip Crane had evidently intended going higher up in the stand, but
his eye lighting on the brother and sister, he stopped, and turned in to
where they were sitting.

"Good afternoon, Miss Porter."

Allis started. Was the stand possessed of unpleasant voices? There was
a metallic ring in Crane's voice that affected her disagreeably. He was
almost a stranger to her; she hardly remembered ever having spoken to
him.

He turned and nodded pleasantly to Alan, saying, "May I take this seat?
I'm tired. The Cashier let you oft for the day, eh?" he continued.
"Came up to see your father's mare run, I suppose--I'm deuced sorry she
was beaten."

"What are they waiting for--why have they taken the horses' numbers down
again? Are they trying to steal the race from Lauzanne now?" It was
the woman's voice behind them, petulantly exclaiming.

Crane turned in his seat, looked over his shoulder, and raised his hat.

"The impatient lady is my trainer's sister," he explained in a modulated
tone to Allis. "A trainer is quite an autocrat, I assure you, and one
must be very careful not to forget any of the obvious courtesies"

Allis wondered why he should find it necessary to make any explanation