Langdon had the highest possible opinion of his master's astuteness and began to waver in his antipathy to Diablo.
“You think he's really good, then, sir; did he show you a fast trial?”
“I didn't even see the horse,” Crane answered, looking dreamily out of the window. “I bought him to—”
He paused in reflection; he couldn't tell Langdon why he had bought him, and he hardly cared to have his prestige with the Trainer destroyed. He continued, shifting the subject—matter a trifle, “You did John Porter up over Lauzanne last summer, Langdon—”
“Me?” questioned 'the Trainer. Was Crane forgetting his share in the matter?
“Yes, you!” affirmed the other, looking him steadily in the eye. “You sold him Lauzanne, and Lauzanne was loaded.”
Langdon said nothing. What the devil was coming?
“Well,” drawled Crane, “Porter's badly hurt; he's out of the race for some time to come. They're friends of mine.”
“They're friends,” mused Langdon; “who in thunder are they?”
“They're friends of mine, and I offered to buy Lauzanne back, just to help them out; but the old man's daughter has got the Chestnut for a hack, and she won't sell him. It was Diablo's fault that Porter got the fall, so they were willing to part with him, and I took the brute.”