“Oh, he knew. I whispered in his ear as we cantered along, and he'll be all right—he'll keep my secret.”
“Well, I think he's due for a pipe opener to-morrow. It's just three days till the Derby, an' we've got to give him a strong workout. Besides, it'll put you next what you've got to do in the race. To-morrow mornin' you had better canter him just slow around once, an' then send him a full mile-an'-aquarter as though there was money hung up for it. I'll catch his time, an' we'll get wise to what he can do.”
This programme was carried out; and as Dixon looked thrice at his watch after the gallop to make sure that he was not mistaken in the time, 2:11, he began to wonder if, after all, the girl was not nearly right in her prophetic hope that the despised Lauzanne would win the Brooklyn Derby.
“He can move; he surprised me,” the Trainer said to Allis as she dismounted. “He's not blown, either; he's as fresh as a daisy. Gad! we'll do those blackguards up yet, I believe.”
The gallop had attracted Mike's attention also. As Allis moved away he called after her, “I say, b'y, hould on a minute. What's yer name, ennyway?”
“Al,” answered the small voice.
“Well, by me faith, ye didn't put up no bad roide. Ye handled that horse foine. Don't run away, lad,” he added, hurrying after the retreating Allis.
Before she could escape him, he had her by the arm, and turned about face to face. Even then he didn't recognize her, for Allis had taken a most subtle precaution in her make-up. The delicate olive of her cheeks was hidden under a more than liberal allowance of good agricultural cosmetique. It had been well rubbed in, too, made of a plastic adherence by the addition of mucilage.
“Lord, what a doirty face!” exclaimed Mike. “But ye kin ride, b'y; so dirt don't count; clean ridin's the thing.”
If Allis hadn't laughed in his face, being full of the happiness of hope, Mike would not have recognized her—even then he didn't hit it off quite right.