“Still young, Allis. I talked like that when I was your age. Fancy and horse racing go arm in arm always, and they're like an experienced man of forty hobnobbing with the little love god; they're just about as well mated.”
Porter's irrelevant simile caused Allis to start, and Crane's relentless eyes came and peeped at her through the narrow-slitted lids.
“All right, though, little girl; your faith may make Lauzanne win, and I think Lucretia's speed will carry her to the front, so you may strike a bit of luck at last.”
XXIII
A few days later Mike Gaynor took the stable up to Gravesend. Dixon had a cottage there, which he occupied with his wife, and Allis was to stop with them.
On the 20th of May the horses were settled in their racing quarters. Only four days remained for introducing Lucretia to the Gravesend track; on the 24th she would take up her ninety-two pounds and be tested to the utmost in the great Brooklyn Handicap.
Dixon felt that several things were in her favor. She was as quiet as an old cow at the post; many false starts would improve rather than diminish her chances, for nothing seemed to excite the gallant little brown mare. Her great burst of speed would enable the jockey to get out of the ruck and steal a good place to lie handy at the leader's heels. She could be nursed to the last furlong of the stretch, for the sight of horses in front would not daunt her brave spirit.
Against the mare were two or three rather important factors; she was slight of build, not overstrong, and the crush of contending horses might knock her out of her stride, should they close in. Then there was just a suspicion of lack of staying power in the Assassin strain; Lucretia might not quite last the mile and a quarter so early in the season, being a mare. However, she had a chance.
“But I'd hardly call it a betting chance,” Dixon said, speaking to Allis; “there's never been a three-year-old won the Brooklyn yet. There'll be openings enough to put down the money later on—in the Derby, if the mare pans out well.”