“Couldn’t help it? What did he get up there for, any way? I’d have given him a thousand dollars to stay off that roof,—or at least to postpone the leg-break for another twenty-four hours.”
Steenie gazed at her old friend’s face in astonishment; then her own countenance flushed. “Oh, I said maybe I could help you, and I can—I can!”
“What? Do you know any jockey round here, worth a cent? One that Trix will bear?” asked the other, eagerly.
“No, sir. I ain’t ’quainted with any jockeys in Old Knollsboro; but I—can ride her.”
There was utter silence for an instant, and the horse-fancier’s face brightened. “You?” Then it sobered again. “Thank you, dearie, but that wouldn’t answer.”
“Why wouldn’t it? I’m sure I could! And I want you to win; I do, I do! I’d be so glad! Do let me try?”
“Steenie Calthorp, don’t tempt me; in a case like this my will is water!”
“But why not? Don’t you know that I could? Haven’t you seen me ride Diablo bareback,—standing—sitting—every way? And once, before I knew how ’ticular you were ’bout her, I came dreadful near riding Trixie myself,—I did, indeed, only Beatrice told me better. But I could. Mayn’t I?”
“I want to win!”
“I will.”