comer. Evidently she did not distrust him entirely, else she would
have put her ears back a trifle and turned away with a little impatient
warning shake of her delicate head. She always turned in that cross
manner from Shandy, the stable boy. She had also discovered that the
visitor was not completely a horseman; she did not investigate his
pockets, nor put her head over his shoulder, as she would have done
with Mr. Porter or Mike, or even with one who was a stranger, as was
Mortimer, had she felt the unmistakable something which conveyed to her
mind that he was of the equine brotherhood.

"Lucretia has found you out," said Allis, presently. "You do like
horses; she knows it."

"Oh, I like animals, I don't deny," Mortimer answered, "but I know very
little about them--nothing about race horses."

Mike frowned and looked disparagingly at the visitor. "He must be a
quare duck," he muttered to himself. That a man should know nothing of
thoroughbreds was perfectly inexplicable to Gaynor. He knew many racing
men whose knowledge of horseflesh was a subject for ridicule, but then
they never proclaimed their ignorance, rather posed as good judges than
otherwise.

But with startling inconsistency Mike explained: "There's many like ye,
sir, only they don't know it, that's all; the woods is full av thim.
Would ye like to give the filly a carrot, Miss?" he added, turning to
Allis. "I'll bring some."

When he returned Allis gave one to Lucretia, then they passed to the
next stall.

"That's a useful horse," explained the Trainer; "he's won some races in
his 'time."

"What's his name?" asked Mortimer.

"Game Boy. He's by the Juggler. Ye remember him, don't ye?"

Mortimer was forced to confess that he didn't quite remember Juggler.

"That's strange," commented Mike, turning the big bay about with evident
pride; "he won the 'Belmont,' at Jerome Park, did the ould Juggler. Ye
must av heerd av that."

Mortimer compromised by admitting that he had probably forgotten it.

"Well, I haven't," declared Mike, reproachfully. "If Game Boy stands a
prep this summer ye'll hear from him," he confided to Mortimer, as they
left the stall. "Jist remember Game Boy; see, ye can't forget--a big bay
wit' a white nigh fore leg, an' a bit rat-tailed. Yes, Game Boy's all
right," monologued Mike; "but here's a better; this is Diablo. He must
have tabasco in his head, fer he's got the divil's own timper. But he
can gallop a bit; he can go like a q