the word that Garrison was
to ride flew everywhere, and Sue heard it. She turned slowly to Drake,
standing at her elbow, his eyes on the paddock.

"Is it true that a jockey called Garrison is to ride to-day?" she asked,
a strange light in her eyes. What that name meant to her!

"Why, yes, I believe so, Miss Desha," replied Drake, delightfully
innocent. "Why?"

"Oh," she said slowly. "How--how queer! I mean--isn't it queer that
two people should have the same name? I suppose this one copied it;
imitation being the sincerest form of flattery. I hope he does the name
justice. Do you know him? He is a good rider? What horse is he up on?"

Drake, wisely enough, chose the last question. "A ten-to-one shot," he
replied illuminatingly. "Perhaps you'll bet on him, Miss Desha, eh? It's
what we call a hunch--coincidence or anything like that. Shall I place a
bet for you?"

The girl's eyes kindled strangely. Then she hesitated.

"But--but I can't bet against The Rogue. It would not be loyal."

Mrs. Calvert laughed softly.

"There are exceptions, dear." In a low aside she added: "Haven't you
that much faith in the name of Garrison? There, I know you have. I would
be ashamed to tell you how much the major and I have up on that name.
And you know I never bet, as a rule. It is very wrong."

And so Sue, the blood in her cheeks, handed all her available cash to
Drake to place on the name of Garrison. She would pretend it was the
original. Just pretend.

"Here they come," yelled Drake, echoed by the rippling shout of the
crowd.

The girl rose, white-faced; striving to pick out the blue and gold of
the Desha stable.

And here they came, the thirteen starters; thirteen finished examples of
God and man's handicraft. Speed, endurance, skill, nerve, grit--all
were there. Horse and rider trained to the second. Bone, muscle, sinew,
class. And foremost of the string came Swallow, the favorite, Red
McGloin, confidently smiling, sitting with the conscious ease of the
idol who has carried off the past year's Brooklyn Handicap.

Good horses there were; good and true. There were Black Knight and
Scapegrace, Rightful and Happy Lad, Bean Eater and Emetic--the latter
the great sprinter who was bracketed with Swallow on the book-maker's
sheets. Mares, fillies, geldings--every offering of horse-flesh above
three years. All striving for the glory and honor of winning this
great sprint handicap. The monetary value was the lesser virtue. Eight