“I'm just on trial.”
“Goin' to ride the Chestnut in the race?”
Again the boy nodded; under the circumstances it wasn't wise to trust too much to speech.
“He ain't no good—he's a bad horse. I guess I've got the winner of that race in my stable. If he wins, I'd like to sign you for a year. I like the way you ride. I ain't got no good lightweight. I might give you a thousand for a contract, an' losin' and winnin' mounts when you had a leg up. How do you like ridin' for Dixon?” he continued, the little chap not answering his observations.
“I ain't goin' to ride no more for him after this race,” answered the other, quite truthfully enough, but possessed of a curiosity to discover the extent of the other's villainy.
“I don't blame you. He's no good; he don't never give his boys a chance. If you win on the Chestnut, like as not they'll just give you the winnin' mount. That ain't no good to a boy. They ain't got no money, that's why. The owner of my candidate, The Dutchman, he's a rich man, an' won't think nothin' of givin' a retainer of a thousand if we won this race. That'll mean The Dutchman's a good horse, and we'll want a good light boy to ride him, see?”
Allis did see. Langdon was diplomatically giving her as A1 Mayne to understand that if she threw the race on Lauzanne, she would get a place in their stable at a retainer of a thousand dollars.
“We can afford it if we win the race,” he continued, “for we stand a big stake. Come and see me any time you like to talk this over.”
After he had gone, just as Allis was leaving the rail, she was again accosted; this time by Shandy. She trembled an instant, fearing that the small red-lidded ferret eyes would discover her identity. But the boy was too intent on trying to secure his ill-earned five hundred dollars to think of anything else.
“Good mornin', boy,” he said, cheerily. “I used to be in Dixon's stable. It's hell; and he's a swipe. I see my boss talkin' to you just now. Did he put you next a good thing?”