“I’ll die rich if your wad only holds out till then,” returned Sunset, laughing.
With but very little hope J. Rufus returned to the grand-stand, where royalty sat like a warm and drowsy garment upon Beauty Phillips; for Beauty was on the stage a queen, and outside of working-hours a princess. Jake Block was still there, and making himself agreeable to a degree that surprised even himself, and he was there yet when Bologna, true to form, came home contentedly following the field. He joined them again at the close of the sixth race, when Carnation, a horse which the Beauty had picked because of his name, was just nosed out of the money, and he walked with them down to the carriage gate. As Block seemed reluctant to leave, he was invited to ride into the city in the automobile J. Rufus had hired by the month, and accepted that invitation with alacrity. He also accepted their invitation to dinner, and during that meal he observed:
“I think, Miss Phillips, I’ll go around and see The Pink Canary to-night, and after the show I’d like to have you and your mother and Wallingford take supper with me, if you have no other engagement.”
“Sure,” said Beauty Phillips, too eagerly for Wallingford’s entire comfort; and so it was settled.
Wallingford, although he had seen the show until it made him deathly weary, went along and sat with Block in a stage box. During one of the dull spots the horseman turned to his companion very suddenly.
“This Beauty Phillips could carry an awful handicap and still take the Derby purse,” he announced. “She beats any filly of her hands and age I ever saw on a card.”
“She certainly does,” assented J. Rufus, suave without, but irritated within.
“I see you training around with her all through the meet. Steady company, I guess.”
“Oh, we’re very good friends; that’s all,” replied Wallingford with such nonchalance as he could muster.