“Al Mayne,” the other replied.
“Well, s'posin' you show up at the course paddocks to-morrow mornin' early, an' I'll see you shape on a horse. D'you live about here—can you bring your father, so if I like your style we can have things fixed proper?”
The boy's face appealed to Dixon as being an honest one. Evidently the lad was not a street gamin, a tough. If he had hands—the head promised well—and could sit a horse, he might be a find. A good boy was rarer than a good horse, and of more actual value.
“I guess I'll stay here to-night so as to be ready for the mornin',” said the caller, to Dixon's astonishment; and then the little fellow broke into a silvery laugh.
“By Jimminy! If it isn't—well, I give in, Miss Allis, you fooled me.”
“Can I ride Lauzanne now?” the girl asked, and her voice choked a little—it might have been the nervous excitement, or thankfulness at the success of her plan in this its first stage.
“Do they know at home?” the Trainer asked.
“No, nobody is to know but you, Mr. Dixon—you and Mrs. Dixon.”
This suggested a thought to the Trainer. “The good wife's at work in the kitchen; I'll bring her in. Perhaps she'd like to hire a help,” and he chuckled as he opened a door and called, “Come here for a minute. This is a boy”—he turned his head away—“I'm takin' on for Lauzanne.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Dixon. Then, with severe politeness, “Good evenin', young man.”