good enough to
leave the earth. This'll be a matter of a couple of hundred to you if
you win."

"All out! all out!" called the voice, of the paddock offcial. "Number
one!" then, "Come on you, Wesltey! they're all out."

The ten starters passed in stately procession from the green-swarded
paddock through an open gate to the soft harrowed earth, gleaming
pink-brown in the sunlight, of the course. How consciously beautiful
the thoroughbreds looked! The long sweeping step; the supple bend of the
fetlock as it gave like a wire spring under the weight of great broad
quarters, all sinewy strength and tapered perfection; the stretch of
gentle-curved neck, sweet-lined as a greyhound's, bearing a lean, bony
head, set with two great jewels of eyes, in which were honesty and
courage, and eager longing for the battle of strength and stamina, and
stoutness of heart; even the nostrils, with a red transparency as of
silk, spread and drank eagerly the warm summer air that was full of the
perfume of new-growing clover and green pasture-land.

Surely the spectacle of these lovely creatures, nearest to man in their
thoughts and their desires, and superior in their honesty and truth, was
a sight to gladden the hearts of kings. Of a great certainty it was a
sport of kings; and also most certainly had it at times come into the
hands of highway robbers.

Some such bitter thought as this came into the heart of John Porter as
he stood and watched his beautiful brown mare, Lucretia, trailing with
stately step behind the others. He loved good horses with all the fervor
of his own strong, simple, honest nature. Their walk was a delight to
him, their roaring gallop a frenzy of eager sensation. There was nothing
in the world he loved so well. Yes--his daughter Allis. But just now
he was thinking of Lucretia--Lucretia and her rival, the golden-haired
chestnut, Lauzanne.

He passed through the narrow gate leading from the paddock to the Grand
Stand. The gate keeper nodded pleasantly to him and said: "Hope
you'll do the trick with the little mare, sir. I'm twenty years at the
business, and I haven't got over my likin' for an honest horse and an
honest owner yet."

There was covert insinuation of suspicion, albeit a kindly one, in the
man's voice. The very air was full of the taint of crookedness; else
why should the official speak of honesty at all? Everyone knew that John
Porter raced to win.

He crossed the lawn and leaned against the course