“Yes, sir; in the sweater; I can take that off—”
“No; never mind. Take this saddle,” and he lifted one from the buggy; “it'll just suit Diablo; he's got a herring-bone of a wither, an' this is high in the tree, an' won't cut him. Here's the cloth an' some leads; weigh out a hundred and twelve too. Weight for age—Diablo's a four-year-old; you ought to carry a hundred and twenty-six, but he's not The Dutchman's class, an' the ycungster'd lose him before they'd gone half the journey. We'll run 'em at level weights, an' he'll get closer to The Dutchman, an' the sharks won't have such a fairy tale to tell about our horse.”
“A hundred and twelve, you said, sir?” queried Westley, as he put the saddle that Langdon handed him over his left arm, slipped the thin sheets of lead in his pocket, and stood dangling the linen weight cloth in his right hand.
“Yes; level weights—a hundred an' twelve pounds.”
“Westley,” the Trainer called as the little man started off, “just bring the saddle back to me here when you've weighed. I'll put it on Diablo myself; he's a touchy cuss, and I don't want him ruffled by careless handlin'.”
“You take considerable trouble over it,” remarked Crane. “One would think it was a big handicap you meant to capture this morning.”
Langdon started visibly. Was Crane thinking of the Brooklyn? Did this quiet, clever man sitting at his elbow already know as much as he hoped to discover in his present gallop?
He answered: “Handicaps is usually won pretty much like this; they're generally settled before the horse goes to the post for the trip itself. When he goes through the paddock gate the day of the big race he's out of his trainer's hands; the man's got no more to do with the race himself than a kid sittin' up in the grand stand. Here's where I come in, if we mean to land the Brooklyn,” and he looked searchingly at Crane, a misleading grin on his lips. But the latter simply joined in the laugh, doubtingly, perhaps.
“A hundred and twelve, neat,” declared Westley, as he returned, throwing some loose leads into the buggy. “Colley's gone to saddle The Dutchman.”
“All right,” answered Langdon, getting down from the seat and taking the saddle. “Go and tell the boy to bring Diablo out of the stall. I'll saddle him in the open. He generally kicks the boards when I cinch him up, an' it puts him in a bad humor.”