I do not remember what Black said, but he made an effort to be agreeable which was not particularly successful. There was something about his manner indicating condescension, which was not at all pleasing to Kitty's democratic spirit. She very promptly took him to task for being out after hours, and with a very different tone from that used when reproving Jack Harris.
"I don't mean to be dictated to by any old played-out martinet of a trainer," said he gruffly. "It is all well enough for those who have no sure thing. I saw Harris going to his room fifteen minutes ago, but I'll sleep when I like, and beat him then."
At this very foolish and boasting remark, involving also a reflection on Jack's prowess, I could see Kitty's eyes flash, and her cheeks redden, and then there came over her face a very peculiar expression of determination I could not at all understand. She changed gradually from indifference to interest, and finally said, with a well-assumed air of admiration, "It must be splendid to be so sure of winning; and don't you have to train at all?"
"Deuced little," he answered; "I go through the motions with old Brown, but eat and drink just what I like, and sleep four or eight hours, as I prefer."
Now, this was a bare-faced lie, and his sin found him out as quickly as in any "goody" book I ever read, for Kitty went on to say in her pretty way, becoming every moment more genial and fascinating, "Isn't that nice? then you can take a soda with me before I start for home."
Remember that I was all the time in the back room with Mr. Holden, listening to the talk, rather hot under the collar at Black's "old played-out martinet," and wondering what in the world little Kitty was plotting.
Black looked a bit doubtful at her offer; he had trained to the dot, and did not mean to throw away a single chance to win, but such an invitation from Kitty was an unheard-of honor, he could not very well eat his words, so he consented with an assumed alacrity, and Kitty proceeded to draw a glass of soda for him.
And such a glass of soda as it was! If Mr. Holden had seen it he would have had a fit; nothing like it had ever gone over his counter, expense was not considered, and profit there could have been none. I could see the whole devil's brew myself, but Black could not, for Kitty stood between him and the glass.
First she put in a double quantity of heavy, thick chocolate, then a liberal lump of ice-cream, and finally hardly enough soda to mix them. She drew a glass of Vichy for herself, and I watched as they drank, and chatted, and laughed together.
Now, what were the reasons why I did not interfere, while my best mile-runner was getting outside of this horrible mixture?