The collected man was Philip Crane. A tinge of almost admiration
tingled the girl's mind. To be possessed of calm where all was nervous
strain was something.
Suddenly the unimpassioned face lighted up; the narrow-lidded eyes
gleamed with brightened interest. As eagerly as a boy their owner,
Crane, came forward and saluted Allis. At that instant the man of many
words on her left rose from his seat to chase through the interminable
crowd on the lawn a new victim.
Allis had sought to be alone in this short time of trial; she was hardly
sure of herself. If Lucretia failed she might break down; for what
would come to her father should the message home be one of disaster?
Even if the little mare won her joy might lead her to commit strange
pranks; she felt that her heart would burst out of sheer joy, if she did
not shout in exultation, or caper madly, as she had seen others do in
the hour of victory. She was sorry that Crane had come.
"I was looking for you," he said; "I want to see you win this race; that
is, if--I mean, like every other man here, I have harked back to my
natural instinct of covetous acquisition and had a bet on."
"Not Lucretia?"
"No--I've bet on Diablo. Langdon thinks he'll win.
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