“He has some good points and has a fine pedigree.”
Mr. Newby raised his eyebrows. “So has his rider; but pedigrees don't count in rides.”
“I never could understand why blood should count in horses and not in men,” said Miss Ashland, placidly. “Oh, I hope he 'll win!” she exclaimed, turning her eager face and glancing back at the gentlemen over her shoulder.
“Well, I like that!” laughed Colonel Snowden. “With all that money on the race! I thought you were backing Hurricane?”
“Oh, but he hasn't anybody to back him,” she protested. “No; I sha 'nt back Hurricane. I shall back him.”
“Which? The horse or the rider?”
“The horse—no, both!” she declared, firmly. “And oh, papa,” she exclaimed, glancing back at him over her shoulder, “they say he wants to win to send his sister to school and to go to college himself.”
“Well, I must say you seem to have learned a good deal about him for the time you had.”
She nodded brightly. “That 's what the old colored man told a friend of mine.”
“If he does n't go to college till he wins with that horse,” said Mr. Newby, “he is likely to find his education abbreviated.”