"Yes, Miss."
"Mare"s Back. Twelve-thirty. Make-Way-There and Lollypop, trial horses.
Stanley and Jerry know. Silvertail for me."
"Yes, Miss."
He closed the door behind him.
Silver came toward the girl slowly and took her hand.
"How are you, Boy?" he asked.
The girl laid her firm, cool little hand lightly on his and let it rest there. Her eyes were soft in his, still and steady. She felt herself surrounded by his love as by a cloud, and dwelt in it with quiet enjoyment and content.
It was a while before she answered.
"I"m all right," she said. "You"re through, aren"t you?"
"Yes; I"m free."
"That"s right," she said. "The rest doesn"t matter."
Together they went out into the sunshine of the Paddock Close.
He stood a moment, filling his chest, and looking up toward the green wall of the Downs.
"Let"s go slow," he said.
She accommodated herself to his stroll.
"By Jove," he said slowly. "It _is_ a delight to get down here again.
And I don"t feel anything"s changed really."
"Nor has it _really_," replied the girl.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
G.o.d Almighty"s Mustang
Jim Silver turned out of the yard into the office.
As the young man entered, the old trainer sat dumped in his chair, rosy, bald, with innocent blue eyes, like a baby without a bib, waiting for its bottle. His round head was deeper between his shoulders than of old, and his pink face was strained and solicitous.
Some men said he was over eighty now.
"Well, sir," he wheezed, "I see you take it good and game."
"No good crying over spilt milk," replied Silver.
The old trainer raised his hand as he settled in his seat.
"Don"t tell me," he said. "It"s them there li"bilities. I was always agin "em. Said so to Boy four year back. "Cash in "and"s one thing," I says. "And li"bilities is another and totally different."" He lifted a keen blue eye. "I understand from what Mr. Haggard tell me, you could ha" dodged "em out o" some of it--only you was too straight." He held up a disapproving finger. "That"s just where you done wrong, Mr. Silver. No good ever come o" bein" _too_ straight, as I often says to Mar. You"re only askin" for trouble--same as the Psalmist says. And now you got to pay for it."
"Well, they"re all satisfied now," laughed Silver. "And so am I."
"I should think they was," snorted Mat Woodburn. "I see "em settin"
round, swellin" and swellin", and rubbin" their fat paunches. Think they"ll keep a nag among the lot of "em! Not so much as a broken-down towel-hoss."
Silver stared out of the window.
"I shall have to sell the horses," he said.
The old man banged the table.
"Never!" he cried. "They"ve took a slice off o" you, and now you must take a bit off o" them. That mayn"t be religion, but it"s _right_ all right!"
He rose and, kicking off his slippers, padded to the door and looked out. Then he peeped out into the forsaken yard and half drew the curtain.
Silver, who loved the old man most when he was most mysterious, watched him with kind eyes that laughed.
"I don"t bet, Mr. Silver, as you know," began the other huskily, "except when it"s a cert., because it"s against _her_ principles." He looked round him and dropped his voice. "But I took a thousand to ten about Fo"-Pound-the-Second at Gatwick on Saraday. Told Mar, too. And she never said No. Look to me like a sign like." He blinked up at the young man.
"You ain"t clean"d out, sir, are you--not mopped up with the sponge?" he asked anxiously.
"There"ll be a few thousands left when it"s finished, I guess," replied the other.
The old man lifted on his stockinged toes.
"Put a thousand on," he whispered. "I"ll do it for ye, so there"s no talk. If he wins, thar"s a hundred thousand back. If he don"t, well, it"s gone down the sink and h"up the spout same as its fathers afore it."
The young man brimmed with quiet mirth.
"Will he win?" he asked.
Old Mat swung his nose from side to side across his face in a way styled by those who knew him trunk-slinging.
"He"s up against something mighty big," said Jim, nodding at the wall.
On it was pinned a great coloured double-page picture from _The Sporting and Dramatic_ of the famous American mare Moca.s.sin. Beside it were various cuttings from daily papers, recounting the romantic history of the popular favourite, and beneath the picture were three lines from the Moca.s.sin Song--
_Made in the mould, Of Old Iroquois bold, Moca.s.sin, the Queen of Kentucky_.
Ikey indeed had found his horse at last; and she was American--Old Kentucky to the core. It was said that Chukkers had discovered her on one of his trips home. Certainly he had taken her across to Australia, where she had launched on her career of unbroken triumph, carrying the star-spangled jacket to victory in every race in which she ran. Then he had brought her home to England, her reputation already made, and growing hugely all the while, suddenly to overwhelm the world, when she crowned her victories on three continents by winning the Grand National at Liverpool--only to be disqualified for crossing amid one of the stormiest scenes in racing history. After that Moca.s.sin ceased to be a mare. She became a talisman, an oriflamme, a consecrated symbol. She was American--youthful, hopeful, not to be put upon by the Old Country, quietly resolute to have her rights.
For the past twelve months indeed the Great Republic of the West had fixed her two hundred million eyes upon the star-spangled jacket across the sea in a stare so set as to be almost terrifying.