A slight smile relaxed the habitually drawn muscles of Mike's grim visage; it was moons since he had heard anybody talk of a horse “coming in first;” he was indeed a green bettor, this, young man of the counting house. What was he doing there betting at all, Mike wondered. It must be because of his interest in the girl, his reason answered.
“I tink he'll win if he does his best for her.”
Mike got to cover; his ungoverned tongue was always playing him tricks.
“Miss Allis is managin' the horses,” he explained, very deliberately, “an' there's a new b'y up on Lauzanne's back, d'ye onderstand; an' if the Chestnut doesn't sulk, does his best fer the young misthress that'll be watchin' him here in the stand wit' tears in her eyes, he moight win--d'ye onderstand?”
Yes, Mortimer understood; it seemed quite clear, for Mike had been to some pains to cover up the slip he had made.
“Now I must go,” he continued; “an' ye needn't come in the paddock--if the b'y is there, I'll sind him out.”
When Alan's seeker returned to Old Bill, he said, “Mr. Gaynor thinks your choice might come in first.”
“Why was Irish steerin' you clear of de paddock?” asked the other.
“I suppose it was to save me the expense of buying a ticket for it.”
The other man said nothing further, but the remembrance of Mike's wink convinced him that this was not the sole reason.
They waited for young Porter's appearance, but he did not come. “The geezer yer waitin' fer is not in dere or he'd a-showed up,” said Old Bill; “an' if yer goin' to take de tip, we'd better skip to de ring an' see what's doin'.”
Mortimer had once visited the stock exchange in New York. He could not help but think how like unto it was the betting ring with its horde of pushing, struggling humans, as he wormed his way in, following close on Old Bill's heels. There was a sort of mechanical aptness in his leader's way of displacing men in his path. Mortimer realized that but for his guide he never would have penetrated beyond the outer shell of the buzzing hive. Even then he hoped that he might, by the direction of chance, see Alan Porter. The issue at stake, and the prospect of its solution through his unwonted betting endeavor, was dispelling his inherent antipathy to gambling; he was becoming like one drunken with the glamour of a new delight; his continued desire to discover young Porter was more a rendering of tithes to his former god of chastity which he was about to shatter.