“You can't make a success of racin', sir, an' run your stable for the public—they don't pay the feed bill.”
“Perhaps you're right, Dixon,” answered Porter.
For immediate financial relief Porter knew that he must look to Lucretia—no other horse in his stable was ready to win; but more immediately he must arrange certain money matters with his banker, who was Philip Crane. To Porter, Crane had been a tolerant financier, taking the man's honesty liberally as a security; not but what Ringwood had been called upon as a tangible asset. So that day, following his conversation with Dixin, the master of Ringwood had an interview with his banker. It was natural that he should speak of his prospects—his hopes of winning the Eclipse with Lucretia, and, corroboratively, mention her good trial.
“I think that's a good mare of yours, Mr. Porter,” said Crane, sympathetically. “I only race, myself in a small way, just for the outdoor relaxation it gives me, you know, so I'm not much of a judge. The other horse you bought—the winner of the race, I mean, Lauzanne—will also help put you right, I should say.”
Porter hesitated, uneasily. He disliked to talk about a man behind his back, but he knew that Langdon trained for Crane, and longed to give the banker a friendly word of warning; he knew nothing of the latter's manipulation of the trainer.
With a touch of rustic quaintness he said, with seeming irrelevance to the subject, “Have you ever picked wild strawberries in the fields, Mr. Crane?”
“I have,” answered the other man, showing no surprise at the break, for life in Brookfield had accustomed him to disjointed deals.
“Did you ever notice that going down wind you could see the berries better?”
Crane thought for a moment. “Yes, that's right; coming up wind the leaves hid them.”
“Just so,” commented Porter; “and when a man's got a trainer he's nearly always working up wind with him.”