"I'll see to that; he'll stand steady enough with me at his head. That's him—the chestnut with the white face."
Picton looked the horse over.
"Bring him out," he said, and The Rascal was led out of his box. As Picton went up to him he laid back his ears, and showed the whites of his eyes; it was a false alarm, he let him pat his neck and pass his hand over him.
"I like him," said Picton; "he looks a good sort."
"He is, sir," said Brent.
"Your favorite?" laughed Picton.
"Yes, sir."
Planet and Pitcher were both browns, handy sorts, and Picton thought it highly probable the three would win the races selected for them. He expressed this opinion, at which Dick and his sister were delighted.
"It is very good of you to come and ride for my brother," she said to him.
"It is always a pleasure to me to do anything to please you and Dick," he replied.