“You have misjudged him sadly,” was Blaisdell’s reply. “No one in any capacity was ever truer to his trust than your son, bishop.
“None ever lived a cleaner life, I know. He had offers innumerable to ride for men who would have paid him extra thousands for retainers. The methods of some on the turf are questionable. As in any other business, it depends altogether on the man. Your son preferred to ride only for me, because he knew that always my horses were ridden to win.”
He was silent a little.
“Although your son received from me a retaining fee of fifteen thousand dollars a year, he seemed to spend but little money,” he continued. “Each year, at his request, I deposited my personal check, payable to him, for the whole amount with my bankers, Relyea & Farnum. As he seemed to spend little, and, like myself, never ventured a wager, it must have accumulated to a good round sum. I always supposed hitherto that the boy had others dependent on him.”
Cringing in his seat, positively cringing, at this latest revelation, Bishop Chalmers heard.
To think how he had mistaken his son! Relyea & Farnum, bankers? Their names were familiar. Now the bishop knew who furnished the seed for his harvest. On this point alone could he not reveal the truth to Blaisdell.
“It was remarkable how he could handle horseflesh,” continued the latter, in a matter-of-fact tone. “No one else could ride Ixion. I verily believe he would have pined away in any other profession. He was not perfectly happy unless he was about horses. Honest? Why, bishop, the whole racing public be——” He checked the word, smiling to himself. He had started to say “bets on him.” “The whole racing public believes in him,” he declared, gravely.
“‘In whatsoever calling,’” murmured the bishop.
The patient had been taken into the operating room, was the report that awaited Blaisdell and the bishop on their arrival at the hospital. Nothing was known regarding his condition. Blaisdell whispered to the obsequious interne who met them:
“I am ex-Secretary Blaisdell. Your patient is the son of Bishop Chalmers here, and in my employ. You will greatly oblige me by sending for my surgeon, Dr. Abercrombie. Leave no stone unturned to save the boy. And, by the way, doctor——”