“Wh-a-t, sir?” asked the little girl, astonished by the long, strange word he had used.
“No matter. Nice child. Spunky—but good. The way I like them. See here?” He held up a small purse in which were displayed six glittering double eagles. “Prizes. Eh? Win ’em? Highest—three; next—two; last—one.”
But Steenie was a little California girl, and her eyes were not dazzled by the sight of gold. Of its intrinsic value she had no idea; for in the course of her short life she had had no occasion to use any money. The prizes, therefore, represented nothing to her beyond themselves; and as playthings she did not care for them.
“Are they? Then I hope the boys will get them all. ’Specially Jim. He’s got a mother, an’ she’s got a consumption, or something. And he’s going to bring her out to live in California, sometime. It’s ter’ble cold where she stays now, my father says; and he ’vises Jim to fetch her. They’re money; and they would help, wouldn’t they?”
“Hm-m. Yes. And you—don’t want them?”
“If he can’t win them I do. I’d rather he’d get them himself, ’cause he’s so pleased when he beats anybody; but if he can’t—why, I will—I hope. Now I know ’bout them, he must have them.”
“Hm-m,” said Lord Plunkett again, grimly. “Oddest child. Like her. Immensely.”
“Steenie!” called Mr. Calthorp; and she darted toward him. “Are you sure that you wish to ride in this exhibition, darling? Are you timid? Because there are a great many here, it seems; and you need not if you do not like. It will be different from an ordinary occasion.”
“But I do wish, Papa dear, if you don’t mind; because Bob would break his heart if I didn’t. He told me so. And I’m going to win, too. Then I’ll get a lot of money to give poor old Jim, for his mother. Yes, yes! I want to ride! And I will—win!”