Langdon cast a quick, significant, cautioning look at Crane as Porter
spoke of the horse; then he said, "You're a fair judge, an' if you're
right you get all the stuff an' no horse."
"I stand to my bargain whatever happens," Porter retorted.
At that instant the bugle sounded.
"Get up, Westley," Langdon said to his jockey, "they're going out."
As he lifted the boy to the saddle, the Trainer whispered a few concise
directions.
"Hold him steady at the post," he muttered; "I've got him a bit on edge
to-day. Get off in front and stay there; he's feelin' good enough to
leave the earth. This'll be a matter of a couple of hundred to you if
you win."
"All out! all out!" called the voice, of the paddock offcial. "Number
one!" then, "Come on you, Wesltey! they're all out."
The ten starters passed in stately procession from the green-swarded
paddock through an open gate to the soft harrowed earth, gleaming pink-
brown in the sunlight, of the course. How consciously beautiful the
thoroughbreds looked! The long sweeping step; the supple bend of the
fetlock as it gave like a wire spring under the weight of great broad
quarters, all sinewy strength and tapered perfection; the stretch of
gentle-curved neck, sweet-lined as a greyhound's, bearing a lean, bony
head, set with two great jewels of eyes, in which were honesty and
courage, and eager longing for the battle of strength and stamina, and
stoutness of heart; even the nostrils, with a red transparency as of
silk, spread and drank eagerly the warm summer air that was full of the
perfume of new-growing clover and green pasture-land.
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