“You don’t! Listen. You know Lady Trix?”
“Course.”
“You know she’s fast, don’t you?”
“Faster ’n lightning!”
“Pretty near, I declare. Well, you know, also, that boy Tretter who was going to ride her against Doctor Gerould’s Mordaunt?”
“Yes. Well?”
“Anything but well! That imp has gone and tumbled off a wood-shed roof, playing circus, and broke his leg.”
“Oh, my! Poor Tretter!”
“Poor Tretter? Poor Courtenay! Lady Trix was never ridden by anybody else, at any such time as this. He was just right weight, and had a good head,—or I thought that he had till this performance.”
“But I s’pose he couldn’t help it.”