Once more he turned to the mountains. The glow had vanished and the Lions stood in bold relief against the clear sky. The massive snow-capped peaks seemed to impart a new strength to his being. “I’ll not quit. I’m going to make good,” he said grimly.
CHAPTER III
While on his daily run around Stanley Park the next afternoon Donald was attracted by a horse and rider standing on Prospect Point. The rider was interested in a huge white liner ploughing her way through the Narrows, bucking a head tide. The horse, a noble animal, with full mane and tail, was restive, rocking and prancing in his eagerness to be off.
When Donald lifted his eyes to the rider he saw a beautiful, haughty face with skin of a milky whiteness, a heavy mass of dark brown hair, neatly coiffed under a trim riding hat, and a pair of wonderful brown eyes that suddenly grew cold.
A shower of dirt and pebbles stung Donald’s face as the horse was swung about as though on a pivot and with its rider was off like the wind.
“A thoroughbred,” he exclaimed, as he watched the rider until she turned a corner in the drive. “Two of them! And she thinks I am a low-down masher,” he added ruefully.
That afternoon he went through fifteen rounds of boxing, finishing strong and fresh to tackle pulleys and punching-bag.
Andy was joyful. “It will never go twenty rounds, me lad. That straight left of yours alone would stop ’im in ’arf that time.”
“This is my last day of road-work,” remarked Donald to his friend on Friday afternoon, as he slipped on his running-shoes.
As he and Douglas neared Prospect Point Donald’s thoughts turned to the girl of yesterday. “She was haughty as a princess.” Unwittingly he had spoken his musings aloud.