Garrison's Finish Part 9

She broke off suddenly and turned to the silent Garrison. "Did you go much to the track up North?" She was looking straight at him.

"I--I--that is--why, yes, of course," he murmured vaguely. "May I see it?"

He took the book from her unwilling hand. A full-page photograph of Sis was confronting him. He studied it long and carefully, pa.s.sing a troubled hand nervously over his forehead.

"I--I think I've seen her," he said, at length, looking up vacantly.

"Somehow, she seems familiar."

Again he fell to studying the graceful lines of the thoroughbred, oblivious of his audience.

"She is a Southern horse," commented Mrs. Calvert. "Rather she was.

Of course you-all heard of her poisoning? It never said whether she recovered. Do you know?"

Garrison glanced up quickly, and met Sue Desha's unwavering stare.

"Why, I believe I did hear that she was poisoned, or something to that effect, now that you mention it." His eyes were still vacant.

"You look as if you had seen a ghost," laughed Sue, her eyes on the magnolia-tree.

He laughed somewhat nervously. "I--I've been thinking."

"Is the major going in for the Carter this year?" asked the girl, turning to Mrs. Calvert. "Who will he run--Dixie?"

"I think so. She is the logical choice." Mrs. Calvert was nervously prodding the gravel with her sunshade. "Sometimes I wish he would give up all ideas of it."

"I think father is responsible for that. Since Rogue won the last Carter, father is horse-mad, and has infected all his neighbors."

"Then it will be friend against friend," laughed Mrs. Calvert. "For, of course, the colonel will run Rogue again this year--"

"I--I don't think so." The girl's face was sober. "That is," she added hastily, "I don't know. Father is still in New York. I think his initial success has spoiled him. Really, he is nothing more than a big child."

She laughed affectedly. Mrs. Calvert's quiet, keen eyes were on her.

"Racing can be carried to excess, like everything," said the older woman, at length. "I suppose the colonel will bring home with him this Mr. Waterbury you were speaking of?"

The girl nodded. There was silence, each member of the trio evidently engrossed with thoughts that were of moment.

Mrs. Calvert was idly thumbing over the race-track annual. "Here is a page torn out," she observed absently. "I wonder what it was? A thing like that always piques my curiosity. I suppose the major wanted it for reference. But then he hasn't seen the book yet. I wonder who wanted it?

Let me--yes, it's ended here. Oh, it must have been the photograph and record of that jockey, Billy Garrison! Remember him? What a brilliant career he had! One never hears of him nowadays. I wonder what became of him?"

"Billy Garrison?" echoed Garrison slowly, "Why--I--I think I've heard of him--"

He was cut short by a laugh from the girl. "Oh, you're good! Why, his name used to be a household word. You should have heard it. But, then, I don't suppose you ever went to the track. Those who do don't forget."

Mrs. Calvert walked slowly away. "Of course you'll stay for lunch, Sue,"

she called back. "And a canter might get up an appet.i.te. William, I meant to tell you before this that the major has reserved a horse for your use. He is mild and thoroughly broken. Crimmins will show him to you in the stable. You must learn to ride. You'll find riding-clothes in your room, I think. I recommend an excellent teacher in Sue. Good-by, and don't get thrown."

"Are you willing?" asked the girl curiously.

Garrison's heart was pounding strangely. His mouth was dry. "Yes, yes,"

he said eagerly.

The tight-faced c.o.c.kney, Crimmins, was in the stable when Garrison, in riding-breeches, puttee leggings, etc., entered. Four names were whirling over and over in his brain ever since they had been first mentioned. Four names--Sis, Waterbury, Garrison, and Crimmins. He did not know whey they should keep recurring with such maddening persistency. And yet how familiar they all seemed!

Crimmins eyed him askance as he entered.

"Goin' for a canter, sir? Ho, yuss; this 'ere is the 'orse the master said as 'ow you were to ride, sir. It don't matter which side yeh get on. 'E's as stiddy-goin' as a alarum clock. Ho, yuss. I calls 'im Waterbury Watch--partly because I 'appen to 'ave a brother wot's trainer for Mr. Waterbury, the turfman, sir."

Crimmins shifted his cud with great satisfaction at this uninterrupted flow of loquacity and brilliant humor. Garrison was looking the animal over instinctively, his hands running from hock to withers and back again.

"How old is he?" he asked absently.

"Three years, sir. Ho, yuss. Thoroughbred. Cast-off from the Duryea stable. By Sysonby out of Hamburg Belle. Won the Brighton Beach overnight sweepstakes in nineteen an' four. Ho, yuss. Just a little off his oats, but a bloomin' good 'orse."

Garrison turned, speaking mechanically. "I wonder do you think I'm a fool! Sysonby himself won the Brighton sweepstakes in nineteen-four.

It was the beginning of his racing career, and an easy win. This animal here is a plug; an out-and-out plug of the first water. He never saw Hamburg Belle or Sysonby--they never mated. This plug's a seven-year-old, and he couldn't do seven furlongs in seven weeks. He never was cla.s.s, and never could be. I don't want to ride a cow, I want a horse. Give me that two-year-old black filly with the big shoulders.

Whose is she?"

Crimmins shifted the cud again to hide his astonishment at Garrison's sudden _savoir-faire_.

"She's wicked, sir. Bought for the missus, but she ain't broken yet."

"She hasn't been handled right. Her mouth's hard, but her temper's even.

I'll ride her," said Garrison shortly.

"Have to wear blinkers, sir."

"No, I won't. Saddle her. Hurry up. Shorten the stirrup. There, that's right. Stand clear."

Crimmins eyed Garrison narrowly as he mounted. He was quite prepared to run with a clothes-basket to pick up the remains. But Garrison was up like a feather, high on the filly's neck, his shoulders hunched. The minute he felt the saddle between his knees he was at home again after a long, long absence. He had come into his birthright.

The filly quivered for a moment, laid back her ears, and then was off.

"Cripes!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the veracious Crimmins, as wide-eyed he watched the filly fling gravel down the drove, "'e's got a seat like Billy Garrison himself. 'E can ride, that kid. An' 'e knows 'orse-flesh. Blimy if 'e don't! If Garrison weren't down an' out I'd be ready to tyke my Alfred David it were 'is bloomin' self. An' I thought 'e was a dub! Ho, yuss--me!"

Moralizing on the deceptiveness of appearances, Crimmins fortified himself with another slab of cut-plug.

Miss Desha, up on a big bay gelding with white stockings, was waiting on the Logan Pike, where the driveway of Calvert House swept into it.

"Do you know that you're riding Midge, and that she's a hard case?" she said ironically, as they cantered off together. "I'll bet you're thrown.

Is she the horse the major reserved for you? Surely not."

"No," said Garrison plaintively, "they picked me out a cow--a nice, amiable cow; speedy as a traction-engine, and with as much action. This is a little better."

The girl was silent, eyeing him steadily through narrowed lids.

"You've never ridden before?"

"Um-m-m," said Garrison; "why, yes, I suppose so." He laughed in sudden joy. "It feels so good," he confided.