“What's the matter, Mike?” questioned Allis.
“Mather, is it?” began Gaynor, “it's just this, Miss Allis; if yer father thinks I'm goin' to stand by an' see good colts spiled in their timper just because a rapscallion b'y has got the evil intints av ould Nick himself, thin he's mistook, that's all.”
“That's him, Miss. He's the divil on wheels, bangin' thim horses about as though he was King Juba.”
“I'll speak to father about him, Mike,” she answered; “I won't have the horses abused.”
“Mark my words, Miss Allis, Diablo'll take it out of his hide some day. The b'y'll monkey wit' him once too often, then there'll be no b'y left.”
“May we see the horses, Mike--are they having their lie-down, or anything?”
“Not yet, Miss; they're gettin' the rub-down now; don't ye hear Diablo bastin' the boords av his stall wid that handy off hind-foot av his?”
“There's a filly for yer life,” exclaimed the Trainer, rapturously, as he opened gently the door of Lucretia's box stall. “There's the straightest filly iver looked through a halter,” he continued, putting his arm with the gentleness of a woman over the brown mare's beautiful neck. “Come here, ould girl,” he said, coaxingly, as he drew the haltered head toward the visitors.
Mortimer looked with interest at the big, comfortable box stall, littered a foot deep with bright, clean, yellow straw. How contented and at home the mare appeared! It seemed almost a complete recompense, this attentive care, for the cruelty he imagined race horses suffered.
“Tie her up!” ejaculated Mike, a fine Celtic scorn in his voice; “I'd rather tie up a wife--if I had one,” he added by way of extenuation. “No man would tie up a mare worth tin thousand dollars if she's worth a cent, an' take chances av her throwin' hersilf in the halter; av coorse she's hitched fer a bit after a gallop while she's havin' a rub-down, but that's all.”
Lucretia's black nozzle came timidly forward, and the soft, velvety upper lip snuggled Allis's cheek.
“She knows ye, Miss,” said Mike. “That's the way wit' horses--they're like children; they know friends, an' ye can't fool thim. Now she's sizin' ye up, Mister,” as Lucretia sniffed suspiciously at Mortimer's chin, keeping a wary eye on him. “She'll know if ye like horses or not, an' I'd back her opinion agin fifty min's oaths.”