“You know, Allis,” she had said, “how I look upon this thoroughly unchristian pursuit. Nothing can justify it from a true woman's point of view, absolutely nothing—not even poverty. I would willingly suffer the loss of all we possess—that it is so little is due to this dreadful, immoral horse racing—but I would sacrifice even what remains, if your father were well and willing to start afresh in some occupation befitting his noble character. I would help him, to endure every hardship, even deprivation, without a murmur.”
“But, mother,” interrupted Allis, “it's impossible now; I think it always was, for, as you know, father knew nothing of other business. Nothing would tempt him to be dishonest in racing, and he always enjoyed it because of his love for horses. But with all that, mother, if he had been in a position to please you, if he had felt that we—you, and Alan, and I—would not have suffered, I am sure he would have listened to your pleadings and given it up. He might perhaps have gone on breeding horses, for you wouldn't have objected to that, would you, mother?”
“No, it's the wicked associations of the race course which I felt degraded a man of your father's character. But I'm not going to dishearten you, Allis, nor hamper you now in your brave acceptance of the task that has come to you, because of wrong done before. It is distasteful to me, of course; it would be to any right-minded mother, to have her daughter in a position so repellant; but, strange as it may seem I'd rather you went with the horses than Alan.”
“Alan couldn't go, mother; he couldn't give up his place in the bank; besides, father has purposely kept him from racing.”
“I know it, Allis; I wasn't thinking of that, though. Alan has the gambling spirit born in him; it's not his fault; it's the visitation of the sins of the father upon the son. It came to your father in just the same way. No, I'm not even blaming your father for it; it has come down from generation to generation; but there has never been dishonor, thank God—there has never been a dishonest Porter in my husband's family, and, please God, there never may be. That would be too much! It would kill me. And it's better that you go, Allis, for Alan is but a boy, and the temptations to a young man at the race course must be almost impossible to resist. Besides, your going may bring new life to your father; the doctor is so hopeful—he says it will. He was afraid that he had shocked me, when he said you were to win races for your father's good. It displeased the pastor; I know it did, but perhaps he doesn't quite understand how much we have at stake.”
“He's so narrow, mother.”
“The Reverend Mr. Dolman thinks only of our souls, daughter; naturally, too, and one can hardly be a Christian and race horses. But we have got so much to consider. I hope I am not wrong in feeling glad that you are able to look after our interests. I should like to pray for your success even, Allis. It might be wrong; I might feel guilty; but if it makes your father better, don't you think I'd be forgiven?”
“I'm sure you would, mother, and it would make me stronger. I'm so glad. I didn't want to displease you. I wanted you to feel that I was doing right. It will be lighter now; I sha'n't mind what anybody says if you're with me, mother. Now everything will come out right; I know it will. And if it does, if father gets strong, just out of thankfulness, I'll coax him to try something else, for your sake, mother.”
“No, for his own, Allis. I think only of him in this matter.” The prospective commencement of the racing campaign seemed to foreshadow a complete fulfillment of the doctor's prophecy should success smile upon this modern Joan of Arc; for the bustle of preparation was music to the ears of the stricken man, and he fought the lethargic fever of discontent that was over him until his eyes brightened and his face took on a hopeful look of interest.
“Brave little woman,” he said to Allis, “it's a shame for a great hulk as I am to lie up here, while you fight the sharks that were almost too much for your father.”