“And always backing Dromedary,” suggested Dolly. Carter was touched on a sensitive spot. “That horse,” he protested loudly, “is a mighty good horse. Some day——”
“That’s what you always said,” remarked Dolly, “but he never seems to have his day.”
“It’s strange,” said Champneys consciously. “I dreamed of Dromedary only last night. Same dream over and over again.” Hastily he changed the subject.
“For some reason I don’t sleep well. I don’t know why.”
Dolly looked at him with all the love in her eyes of a mother over her ailing infant.
“It’s worrying over me, and the heat,”’ she said. “And the garage next door, and the skyscraper going up across the street, might have something to do with it. And YOU,” she mocked tenderly, “wanted to send me to the sea-shore.”
Carter was frowning. As though about to speak, he opened his lips, and then laughed embarrassedly.
“Out with it,” said Dolly, with an encouraging smile. “Did he win?”
Seeing she had read what was in his mind, Carter leaned forward eagerly. The ruling passion and a touch of superstition held him in their grip.
“He ‘win’ each time,” he whispered. “I saw it as plain as I see you. Each time he came up with a rush just at the same place, just as they entered the stretch, and each time he won!” He slapped his hand disdainfully upon the dirty bills before him. “If I had a hundred dollars!”