"Of course," she said, not surprised by any means at the price Mackrell mentioned, "I know good horses cost money, and that I can't win anything with bad ones. By the way, what happened to your friend who made you buy your first horse?"
"I took him home with me," Carlton Mackrell replied, "and installed him as my trainer. His name is Tugwood, and I found out that he had had great experience of training and driving Trotters; twenty-five years of it, in fact, both in America and here. He is still with me, and drives when I am unable to do so myself, which is not often, happily. Of course you will want a trainer—"
"Can you find me one?"
"I think so"; but he did not tell her that he meant to transfer "Brusher" Tugwood to her as the most trustworthy man he knew, and in whose hands her horses would be treated as carefully and as jealously as were his own.
"It's awfully interesting," said Gay with a sigh. "How I wish I were a man, to be able to go about, and get some of these experiences. Nearly all amusing, aren't they?"
"Mostly," Carlton Mackrell replied, crumbling his bread thoughtfully, "though a few are sad, and many sordid."
He went away that night, knowing that he should have kicked himself for a sweep in encouraging Gay in her new passion, for the scales had already fallen from his eyes as regarded Trotting, but, doting on the girl as he did, her wish was law to him, while the prospect of getting her to himself while Chris was racing elsewhere, was too great a temptation to resist.
And after all, why should she not have her fling? She could afford it, and the time she put in with the noxious Professor must be dull enough in all conscience.
When at last, excited and happy, Gay betook herself to bed, she dreamed of new records created by her horses, and saw her sideboard covered with cups, king over which reigned the Blue Riband of Trotting, the Champion Gold Vase.