Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-09-20
It's wearer was quite nth or

blue Jacket. Its wearer was quite nth or
sixth.
"Lucretia is doing well," said Crane; she's
holding her own; she's Tapped on White
It seemed strange to Anis that any other
thought should come into her mind at that
time other than just concern for Lucretia
but she caught herself wondering at Cranes
professional words of description. For the
time he was changed the quick brevity of his
utterances tokened an interested excite
ment He was not at all like the Crane
she knew, the cold, collected banker.
'Lucretia's doing better" her companion
added few seconds later. IF l were given
to sentiment, / should say her gallop was
the poetry of motion. She deserves TO win.
But honestly, Miss Allis 1 think she'll
never catch the black; he's running like
good horse"
Allis could not answer; the strain was too
great for words. II would be all over in
minute or so. then she would talk
You're mare Is creeping up, Miss Allis;
she's second to the black now, and they've
still good three furlongs to go. You may
win yet 1t takes a good horse to make all
his own running for mile and a Quarter
and then win Her light weight may land
her hrst past the post. There are only
four in II, now, the rest are beaten off
sure Diablo is still in the lead. White
Moth and Lucretia are a length back and
The King is next, RUNNING strong It's
the same Into the stretch. Now the BOYS
are riding, Lucretia is drawing away from
White Moth-shes pressing Diablo. You'll
win yet"
His voice was drowned by the clamor that
went up from every side "Diablo! White
Moth! Lucretia!' What a babel of yels.
hes beat! Come on" II was deafening.
All the conjecture of months, all the hopes
and fears Of thousands compressed into
few brief seconds of struggling endeavor.
Allis sat down. There was less frenzied
excitement thus.
God Of Justice!' 1t was Cranes voice
close to her ear: his hot breath was on her
cheek; he had Leaned down that she
might hear him. Your Jockey has sold
him pull her off. I'm sorry, Miss Allis. God
knows ! am, though I've won-for Diablo
is winning easily Then he Strengthened
up for an instant. only to bend down again
and say. Yes, Diablo has won and Lucre-
tia Is beaten off. Perhaps 1t wasn't the
boy, after all, for It's long journey for
! a three-year-old mare. Can 1 do-anything
for you?. Let me see you down to the
paddock"
Thank you" the girl answered, strug-
Cling with her voice. Yes, l must GO for
go and put brave face on, suppose. It's
all over, and 1t can't be helped. But you've
won, and I congratulate you"
Poor old Dad!' she muttered to herself;
TO nave fairly given away Diablo Just
when he was ready to win a big race"
With tinge of bitterness the girl thought
how much her mothers opposition to
blame for this narrow missing of a great
the cataract Of voices that smothered her
like great falling waters. There was little
exultation. If 1t had been any solace TO
her, she had much companionship In her
dashed hopes; for Diabo the winner had
not been backed by the general public: the
favorite, White Moth, had been beaten.
After the first outburst, sulen anger
took possession of the racegoers. They
had been wronged, deceived; another coup
had been made by that tricky manipulation
Langdon. How carefully he had kept the
hircr hot la1 IA
have put into execution its half-muttered
thoughts, every post about the Gravesend
track would have been decorated with a
fragment of Langdon's anatomy.
Even the bookmakers were less jubilant
than usual over this winning Of an out
slider; for Crane and Langdon and Faust,
and two or three others, who had either
received hint or stumbled upon the good
thing, had taken out of the ring a tidy
amount of lawful currency.
(To be Continued)