“I want to win a thousand,” declared Mortimer.
“Den you've got to plump fer a win; he's ten to one.”
Mortimer could hardly understand himself; he was falling in with the betting idea. It was an age since he stood at his desk in that bank, abhorrent of all gambling methods, to the present moment, when he was actually drawing from his pocket a roll of bills with which to bet on a horse.
He took a despairing look through the thicket of human beings that made a living forest all about, in a last endeavor to discover Alan Porter. Not three paces away a uniquely familiar figure was threading in and out the changing maze-it was Mike Gaynor.
Mortimer broke from his friend, and with quick steps reached the trainer's side.
“I want to find Alan Porter,” he said, in answer to Gaynor's surprised salutation.
“He was in the paddock a bit ago,” answered Mike; “he moight be there still.”
Almost involuntarily Mortimer, as he talked, had edged back toward his friend of disconsolate raggedness.
“I wanted to go in there--I'd like to go now to find him, but they won't let me through the gate.”
“No more they will,” answered Mike, with untruthful readiness, for all at once it occurred to him that if Mortimer got to the paddock he might run up against Allis and recognize her.
“De gent could buy a badge and get in,” volunteered Old Bill.
The lid of Mike's right eye drooped like the slide of a lantern, as he answered: “He couldn't get wan now--it's too late; just wait ye here, sir, and if the b'y's there wit' the nags, I'll sind him out.”
Old Bill made no comment upon Mike's diplomatic misstatement anent the badge, for he had observed the wink, and held true to the masonry which exists between race-course regulars.
“Yes, please send him out then, Mr. Gaynor; it's important.”
“I'm in a hurry meself,” said Mike; “I just come out fer a minute; see here,” and he nodded his head sideways to Mortimer. The latter walked by his side for a few steps.
“I don't know; he calls himself Old Bill.”
“Well, ye best look out--he looks purty tough. What's he playin' ye fer?”
“He advised me to bet money on Lauzanne.”
“The divil he did! What th' yellow moon does he know about the Chestnut; did ye back him?”
“I don't know. Do you think Lauzanne might come in first?”