Suddenly the unimpassioned face lighted up; the narrow-lidded eyes gleamed with brightened interest. As eagerly as a boy their owner, Crane, came forward and saluted Allis. At that instant the man of many words on her left rose from his seat to chase through the interminable crowd on the lawn a new victim.
Allis had sought to be alone in this short time of trial; she was hardly sure of herself. If Lucretia failed she might break down; for what would come to her father should the message home be one of disaster? Even if the little mare won her joy might lead her to commit strange pranks; she felt that her heart would burst out of sheer joy, if she did not shout in exultation, or caper madly, as she had seen others do in the hour of victory. She was sorry that Crane had come.
“I was looking for you,” he said; “I want to see you win this race; that is, if—I mean, like every other man here, I have harked back to my natural instinct of covetous acquisition and had a bet on.”
“Not Lucretia?”
“No—I've bet on Diablo. Langdon thinks he'll win. Do you remember the agreement about his purchase?”
“What was that? I've half forgotten it.”
“Just a little bet on your account, you know.”
“Oh, I remember; but that was only in fun, wasn't it?”
“It was part of the bargain, and it's on. You'll take it, won't you, if he wins—”
“They're off!” Some one had shouted the magic words from the head of the steps. In a second every voice of the thousands was stilled, and there was only the noise of shuffling feet, as eager watchers stood up to see the horses.