Again there was more hurrying of feet as the Chestnut's backers who had waited in the stand for the Judge's decision, hurried down to the gold mart.
“You'll take Lauzanne, father,” Allis said, when the tumult had stilled; “it will come out right somehow—I know it will—he'll win again.”
John Porter stood irresolutely for a minute, not answering the girl, as though he were loath to go close to the contaminating influence that seemed part and parcel of Lauzanne, and which was stretching out to envelop him. He was thinking moodily that he had played against a man who used loaded dice, and had lost through his own rashness. He had staked so much on the race that the loss would cut cripplingly into his affairs.
“I guess you're right, Allis,” he said; “a man's got to keep his word, no matter what happens. I never owned a dope horse yet, and unless I'm mistaken this yellow skate is one to-day. I'll take him though, girl; but he'll get nothing but oats from me to make him gallop.”
Then Porter went resolutely down the steps, smothering in his heart the just rebellion that was tempting him to repudiate his bargain.
As he reached the lawn, a lad swung eagerly up the steps, threw his eye inquiringly along row after row of seats until it stopped at Allis. Then he darted to her side.
“Hello, Sis—been looking for you. Where's Dad?”
“Gone to get Lauzanne.”
“Lauzanne!” and the boy's eyes that were exactly like her own, opened wide in astonishment.
“Yes; father bought him.”