“He was in the paddock a bit ago,” answered Mike; “he moight be there still.”
Almost involuntarily Mortimer, as he talked, had edged back toward his friend of disconsolate raggedness.
“I wanted to go in there—I'd like to go now to find him, but they won't let me through the gate.”
“No more they will,” answered Mike, with untruthful readiness, for all at once it occurred to him that if Mortimer got to the paddock he might run up against Allis and recognize her.
“De gent could buy a badge and get in,” volunteered Old Bill.
The lid of Mike's right eye drooped like the slide of a lantern, as he answered: “He couldn't get wan now—it's too late; just wait ye here, sir, and if the b'y's there wit' the nags, I'll sind him out.”
Old Bill made no comment upon Mike's diplomatic misstatement anent the badge, for he had observed the wink, and held true to the masonry which exists between race-course regulars.
“Yes, please send him out then, Mr. Gaynor; it's important.”
“I'm in a hurry meself,” said Mike; “I just come out fer a minute; see here,” and he nodded his head sideways to Mortimer. The latter walked by his side for a few steps.
“Who's that guy?” asked the Trainer.