There was such a tone of doubt in the Trainer's voice that even Mortimer noticed it. Neither was there much praise of the big Chestnut; evidently Mike did not quite approve of him, though hesitating to say so in the presence of his mistress.
“Yes, Lauzanne is my horse,” volunteered Allis. “I even ride him in all his work now, since he took to eating the stable-boy.”
“And you're not afraid?” asked Mortimer.
For answer the girl slipped quietly into the stall, and going up beside the Chestnut, who was standing sulkily with his head in the corner of his box, took him by the ear and turned him gently around.
“He's just a quiet-mannered chap, that's all,” she said. “He's a big, lazy, contented old boy,” and she laid her cheek against his fawn-colored nozzle. “You see,” she explained, “he's got more brains than any of the other horses, and when he's abused he knows it.”
“But he's grateful when he's kindly treated,” commented Mortimer.
“Yes; that's why I like horses better than men.”
“Oh!” the exclamation slipped from Mortimer's lips.
“Most men, I mean,” she explained. “Of course, father, and Alan, and—” she hesitated; “you see,” she went on to explain, “the number of my men friends is limited; but except these, and Mike, and Mr. Dixon, I like the horses best.”
“I almost believe you're right, Miss Porter,” concurred Mortimer; “I've known men myself that I fancy were much worse than even Diablo.”