Thoroughbreds Part 43

The rosy hue of eager joyousness that had crept into Gaynor's suntanned face vanished; his jaw drooped, and a pathetic look of sheepish apology followed.

"That's so," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, mournfully; "bot' tumbs up! but it's a pity.

Carson's an Irish gintleman, an' if I could till him ye was a gurl, he'd knock the head plumb off any b'y that 'ud bother ye. Ye'd git away well, too."

Then the girl told Mike all that Shandy and Langdon had said. It only confirmed Mike's opinion that between them they had poisoned Lucretia.

He felt that with a little more evidence he would be able to prove both crimes--the one with Diablo and the one with Lucretia.

The Brooklyn Derby was to be run the next day. Allis was glad that it was so near; she dreaded discovery. She was like a hunted hare, dodging everyone she fancied might discover her ident.i.ty. She would have to run the gauntlet of many eyes while weighing for the race, and at the time of going out; even when she returned, especially if she won. But in the excitement over the race, people would not have time to devote to a strange jockey's visage. She could quite smear her face with dirt, for that seemed a natural condition where boys were riding perhaps several races in one afternoon. The jockey cap with its big peak well pulled down over her head would add materially to her disguise. Mike would fetch and carry for her, so that she would be in evidence for very few minutes at most. Dixon even, opposed to the idea as he had been at first, now a.s.sured her quite confidently that n.o.body would make her out.

"It's the horses they look at," he said, "and the colors. An apprentice boy doesn't cut much ice, I can tell you. Why, I've been racin' for years," he went on with the intent of giving her confidence, "an' many a time I see a boy up on a horse that must have rode on the tracks over a hundred times, an' I can't name him to save my neck."

At any rate there was nothing more to do until she made the great endeavor, until she went to the track at the time set for the Brooklyn Derby, dressed in the blue jacket with the white stars of her father's racing colors; that was the plan adopted. A buggy, with Mike driving, would take her straight to the paddock quite in time for the race.

x.x.xIII

After Crane left the money for Porter's note with Mortimer the latter took the three one-thousand-dollar bills, pinned them to the note, placed them in a cigar box and put the box away carefully in the bank safe, to remain there until the 14th of June, when it became due.

Incidentally Mortimer mentioned this matter to Alan Porter.

Crane in writing to the cas.h.i.+er about other affairs of the bank touched upon the subject of Porter's obligation, stating that he had left the money with Mr. Mortimer to meet the note when it matured.

The day before the Derby, the 12th of the month, Alan asked his day's leave and got it. The cas.h.i.+er more readily granted Alan's request, as Crane had intimated in his letter that it would please him if the lad were to have a holiday.

Alan went up to New York that evening. Earlier in the day he somewhat hesitatingly confided to Mortimer that he had backed Lucretia when she was well and looked to have a good chance to win her race; now she was scratched, and his money was lost. Bearing in mind what Crane had said about The Dutchman's chances of winning, even with Lucretia in the race, he felt now that it appeared almost like a certainty for Crane's horse.

If he could have a bet on The Dutchman he would surely recoup his losses. Alan explained all these racing matters very minutely and with great earnestness to Mortimer, for the latter was quite unfamiliar with the science of race gambling. Having stated his predicament and hoped-for relief, as an excuse for so doing, he wound up by asking his companion for a loan of two hundred dollars.

Mortimer had little less horror of betting and its evil influence than Mrs. Porter, but under the circ.u.mstances he would perhaps have complied with the boy's request had he been provided with sufficient funds. As it was, he said: "I don't like the idea of lending you money to bet with, Alan; your mother wouldn't thank me for doing so; besides, if you lost it you'd feel uncomfortable owing me the money. At any rate, I haven't got it. I couldn't lend you two hundred, or half of it. I suppose I haven't got a hundred to my credit."

"Oh, never mind then," answered Alan, angrily, stiffening up, because of Mortimer's lecture.

"I'll lend you what I've got."

"I don't want it. I can get it some other place."

"You'd better take--"

"Take nothing--I don't want it."

"Very well, I'm sorry I can't oblige you. But take my advice and don't bet at all; it'll only get you into trouble."

"Thanks; I don't need your advice. I was a fool to ask you for the money."

"I say, Alan," began Mortimer, in a coaxing tone.

"Please don't 'Alan' me any more. I can get along without your money and without your friends.h.i.+p; I don't want either."

Mortimer remained silent. What was the use of angering the boy further?

He would come to see that he had meant it in good part, and would be all right in a day or two.

During the rest of the day Alan preserved a surly distance of manner, speaking to Mortimer only once--a constrained request for a bunch of keys in the latter's possession which unlocked some private drawers in the vault.

The next morning it suddenly occurred to Mortimer that Porter's note fell due that day--either that day or the next, he wasn't sure. The easiest way to settle the question was to look at the date on the note.

He stepped into the vault, took out the little cigar box, opened it, and as he handled the crisp papers a sudden shock of horror ran through his frame. One of the bills was gone; there were only two one-thousand-dollar notes left.

The discovery paralyzed him for an instant. He was responsible; the money had been left in his charge. Then he looked at the note; it matured the next day. All the money had been in the box the morning before, for he had looked at it. Only the cas.h.i.+er and Alan Porter knew that it was in the vault.

The whole dreadful truth came clearly to Mortimer's mind with absolute conviction. Alan, infatuated with the prospect of winning a large sum over The Dutchman, and failing to borrow from him, had taken the money.

The gravity of the situation calmed Mortimer, and his mind worked with a cool method that surprised him. Bit by bit he pieced it out. The boy, inconsistently enough, had reasoned that the money was his father's, and that he was only borrowing family property. No doubt he had felt sure of winning, and that he would be back in time to replace the thousand before it was needed. This sophistical reasoning had, without doubt, tempted the lad to commit this--this--Mortimer felt a reluctance to bestow the proper name upon Alan's act, but undoubtedly it was stealing.

And if the boy lost the money, what would happen? He couldn't repay it; the shortage would be discovered and Allis's brother would be ruined, branded as a 'thief.

Mortimer would willingly put the money back himself for Allis's sake; but he hadn't it. What was he to do? If he could find Alan and force him to give up the stolen money he could yet save the boy. But Alan had gone to Gravesend.

Like an inspiration the thought came to Mortimer that he must go after him and get the money before it was lost. He shoved the box back in its place, and came out into the office.

It was half past ten by the clock. Luckily the cas.h.i.+er had not come yet.

Mortimer's mind worked rapidly. He must make some excuse and get away; anything; he must even lie; if he saved the boy it would be justifiable.

Why did not the cas.h.i.+er come, now that he was ready for him? Each minute seemed an age, with the honor of Allis's brother hanging in the balance.

He would need money. He drew a check for a hundred dollars. A hasty inspection showed that he still had a trifle more than this amount to his credit. Why he took a hundred he hardly knew; fate seemed writing the check. He had barely finished when the cas.h.i.+er appeared. At once Mortimer spoke to him.

"I want leave of absence to-day, sir," he said, speaking hurriedly.

The cas.h.i.+er frowned in astonishment. "Impossible We are short-handed with young Porter away."

"I'll be back in the morning," pleaded Mortimer. "My mother is very ill.

I've opened up, and Mr. Ca.s.s can manage, I'm sure, if you'll let me go.

I wouldn't ask it, but it's a matter of almost life and death." He had nearly said of honor.

Unwillingly the cas.h.i.+er consented. It probably meant extra work for him; he would certainly have to take a hand in the office routine. Theirs was not a busy bank, and that day was not likely to be a very pressing one, but still he would have to shoulder some of the labor.

Full of the terrible situation, Mortimer cared not who worked, so that he got away in time to save Allis's brother from himself. At last he was free. He almost ran to the station.

Looking from the window of the bank, the cas.h.i.+er seeing Mortimer's rapid pace, muttered: "I guess the poor man's mother is pretty bad; I'm glad I let him go. He's a good son to that mother of his."

At eleven o'clock Mortimer got a train for New York. During the wait at the station he had paced up and down the platform with nervous stride. A dozen times he looked at his watch--would he be too late? He had no idea how long it would take to reach Gravesend; he knew nothing of the race track's location. As the train whirled him through Emerson, where his mother lived, he could see the little drab cottage, and wondered pathetically what the good woman would say if she knew her son was going to a race meeting. At twelve he was in New York.

x.x.xIV

Mortimer found that he could take an "L" train to the Bridge, and transfer there to another taking him direct to the course. At the Bridge he was thrust into a motley crowd, eager, expectant, full of joyous antic.i.p.ation of a.s.sured good luck. He was but a tiny unit of this many-voiced throng; he drifted a speck on the bosom of the flood that poured into the waiting race train. He was tossed into a seat by the swirling tide, and as the train moved he looked at his fellow-pa.s.sengers. There was a pleasant air of opulence all about him.

Gold chains of fair prominence, diamonds of l.u.s.trous hue, decorated the always rotund figures. He fell to wondering why the men were all of a gross physique; why did the ladies wear dresses of such interminable variety of color; from whence came the money for this plethora of rich apparel?