“You think, Mike—” began Mr. Porter, questioningly; but Gaynor interrupted him with: “I don't think nothin', sir, an' I ain't sayin' nothin. I ain't never been before the Stewards yet for crooked work, or crooked talk; but there's a boy ridin' in dat bunch to-day w'at got six hundred for t'rowing me down once, see? S'elp me God! he pulled Blue Smoke to a standstill on me, knowin' that it would break me. That was at Coney Island, two years ago.”
“And you don't remember his name, I suppose, Mike?”
“I don't remember not'in' but that I got it in th' neck. But ye keep yer eye open, sir. Ye t'ink that none of the b'ys would t'row ye down cause ye've been good to 'em; but some of 'em are that mean they'd steal th' sugar from a fly. I know 'em. I hears 'em talk, cause they don't mind me—t'ink I'm one of th' gang.”
“Thank you very much, Gaynor; I appreciate your kindly warning; but I hope you're mistaken, all the same,” said Porter. Then he proceeded on his way toward stall five, in which was Lauzanne.
“How are you, Mr. Porter?”
It was Philip Crane, standing just outside of the stall, who thus addressed him. “Got something running today?” he continued, with vague innocence.
Langdon, just inside the box, chuckled softly. Surely Crane was a past master in duplicity.
“I'm starting Lucretia in this race,” replied Honest John.
“Oh!” Then Crane took Porter gently by the sleeve and drew him half within the stall. “Mr. Langdon, who trains a horse or two for me, says this one'll win;” and he indicated the big chestnut colt that the Trainer was binding tight to a light racing saddle. “You'd better have a bit on, Mr. Porter,” Crane added.
“Lucretia carries my money,” answered Porter in loyalty.