for the
public--they don't pay the feed bill."

"Perhaps you're right, Dixon," answered Porter.

For immediate financial relief Porter knew that he must look to
Lucretia--no other horse in his stable was ready to win; but more
immediately he must arrange certain money matters with his banker, who
was Philip Crane. To Porter, Crane had been a tolerant financier, taking
the man's honesty liberally as a security; not but what Ringwood
had been called upon as a tangible asset. So that day, following his
conversation with Dixin, the master of Ringwood had an interview with
his banker. It was natural that he should speak of his prospects--his
hopes of winning the Eclipse with Lucretia, and, corroboratively,
mention her good trial.

"I think that's a good mare of yours, Mr. Porter," said Crane,
sympathetically. "I only race, myself in a small way, just for the
outdoor relaxation it gives me, you know, so I'm not much of a
judge. The other horse you bought--the winner of the race, I mean,
Lauzanne--will also help put you right, I should say."

Porter hesitated, uneasily. He disliked to talk about a man behind his
back, but he knew that Langdon trained for Crane, and longed to give
the banker a friendly word of warning; he knew nothing of the latter's
manipulation of the trainer.

With a touch of rustic quaintness he said, with seeming irrelevance to
the subject, "Have you ever picked wild strawberries in the fields, Mr.
Crane?"

"I have," answered the other man, showing no surprise at the break, for
life in Brookfield had accustomed him to disjointed deals.

"Did you ever notice that going down wind you could see the berries
better?"

Crane thought for a moment. "Yes, that's right; coming up wind the
leaves hid them."

"Just so," commented Porter; "and when a man's got a trainer he's nearly
always working up wind with him."

"The trainer hides things?" queried Crane.

"Some do. But the outsiders walking down wind see the berries."

And the Banker pondered for a minute, then he said, "Whose garden are
the berries in, Mr. Porter, yours or mine?"

"Well, you've always been a good friend of mine, Mr. Crane," Porter
answered, evasively.

"I see," said the other, meditatively; "I understand. I'm much obliged.
If I thought for an instant that any trainer wasn't dealing perfectly
straightforward with me, I'd have nothing more to do with him--nothing
whatever."

Crane sat looking through the open window at John Por