“All right, Dixon,” Porter replied. “It may be that we've broke our bad luck with the little mare.”
They were standing in the paddock during this conversation. It was in the forenoon; Dixon had come over to the Secretary's office to see about some entries before twelve o'clock. When the Trainer had finished his business, the two men walked across the course and infield to Stable 12, where Dixon had his horses. As they passed over the “Withers Course,” as the circular track was called, Dixon pointed to the dip near the lower far turn.
“It's a deuced funny thing,” he said, speaking reminiscently, “but that little hollow there settles more horses than the last fifty yards of the finish; it seems to make the soft ones remember that they're runnin' when they get that change, an' they stop. I bet Diablo'll quit right there, he's done it three or four times.”
“He was the making of a great horse as a two-year-old, wasn't he, Andy?”
“They paid a long price for him, if that's any line; but I think he never was no good. It don't matter how fast a horse is if he won't try.”
“I've an idea Diablo'll be a good horse yet,” mused Porter. “You can't make a slow horse gallop, but there's a chance of curing a horse's temper by kind treatment. I've noticed that a squealing pig generally runs like the devil when he takes it into his head.”
“Diablo's a squealing pig if there ever was one,” growled Dixon.
They reached the track stable, and, as if by a mutual instinct, the two men walked on till they stood in front of Lauzanne's stall.
“He's a good enough looker, ain't he?” commented Dixon, as he dipped under the door bar, went into the stall, and turned the horse about. “He's the picture of his old sire, Lazzarone,” he continued, looking the horse over critically; “an' a damned sight bigger rogue, though the old one was bad enough. Lazzarone won the Suburban with blinkers on his head, bandages on his legs, an' God knows what in his stomach. He was second in the Brooklyn that same year. I've always heard he was a mule, an' I guess this one got it all, an' none of the gallopin'.”
“How does he work with the others?” queried Porter.