"And I want him to be on hand at the races," continued John. "He has entered the pick of his stables. Two of them—the best he has—go against The Prince. The colt will win. I want Marston to see him win. I want him to see a Dudley horse walk away from the fastest thing in a Marston stable!"
He swung around in his chair with flashing eyes.
"You're pretty confident, aren't you?"
"No more than I have cause to be."
"Do you know the private record of that big black, Imperial Don?"
"No, and I don't care to. I don't care if it's two minutes flat! I tell you, Tom Dillard, there's nothing on four legs that can outrun The Prince! It is uncanny! Have you ever seen him go with a loosened rein? It takes your breath away to watch him! Peter is going to work him out this afternoon at the track. Miss Dudley and I are going. When you come back you will understand what I mean when I say this colt was born of the wind and the lightning!"
Dillard flushed at the mention of Julia's name and looked embarrassed. John wondered. Had the poor fellow cast his die, and lost? His own uncertain position brought a warm feeling of sympathy to his heart, but he could say nothing personal.
"I don't suspect I can come," answered Dillard, in a changed voice, and John no longer doubted it was all over with his friend. "But I hope you're right. It would give me a lot of pleasure to see the Dudleys win over Marston."
"There are plenty of people around here who will enjoy that pleasure," muttered Glenning, turning to his writing materials.
"I'll be on hand at the race, anyway," said Dillard, walking to the door, "and I'll keep on watching Marston."