Allis's visit to Ringwood was a flying one. Filial devotion to her
father had been one motive, but not the only one. Her brother Alan's
wardrobe received a visitation from hands not too well acquainted with
the intricacies of its make-up.
John Porter was undoubtedly brightened by the daughter's visit.
Lucretia's defeat in the Handicap had increased his despondency. To
prepare him gradually for further reverses Allis intimated, rather than
asserted, that Lucretia might possibly have a slight cold--Digon wasn't
sure; but they were going to run Lauzanne also. Like the Trainer, her
father had but a very poor opinion of the Chestnut's powers in any other
hands but in that of the girl's.
“Who'll ride him?” he asked, petulantly. “It seems you can't trust any
of the boys now-a-days. If they're not pin-headed, they're crooked as a
corkscrew. Crane tells me that Redpath didn't ride Lucretia out in
the Handicap, and whether he rides the mare or Lauzanne it seems all
one--we'll get beat anyway.”
“Another boy will have the mount on Lauzanne,” Allis answered.
“What difference will that make? You can't trust him.”
“You can trust this boy, father, as you might your own son, Alan.”
“I don't know about that. Alan in the bank is all right, but Alan as a
jockey would be a different thing.”
“Father, you would trust me, wouldn't you?”
“I guess I would, in the tightest corner ever was chiseled out.”
“Well, you can trust the jockey that's going to ride Lauzanne just as
much. I know him, and he's all right. He's been riding Lauzanne some,
and the horse likes him.”
“It's all Lauzanne,” objected Porter, the discussion having thrown him
into a petulant mood. “Is Lucretia that bad--is she sick?”
“She galloped to-day,” answered the girl, evasively. “But if anything
happens her we're going to win with the horse. Just think of that,
father, and cheer up. Dixon has backed the stable to win a lot of money,
enough to-enough to--well, to wipe out all these little things that are
bothering you, dad.”
She leaned over and kissed her father in a hopeful, pretty way. The
contact of her brave lips drove a magnetic flow of confidence into the
man. “You're a brick, little woman, if ever there was one. Just a tiny
bunch of pluck, ain't you, girl? And, Allis,” he continued, “if you
don't win the Derby, come and tell me about it yourself, won't you?
You're sure to have some other scheme for bracing me up. I'm just a
worthless hulk, sitting here in the house a cripple while you fight the
battles. Perhaps Providence, as your mother says, will see you through
your hard task.”
“I won't come and tell you that we've lost, dad; I'll come and tell you
that we've won; and then we'll all have the biggest kind of a blow-out
right here in the house. We'll have a champagne supper, with cider for
champagne, eh, dad? Alan, and Dixon, and old Mike, and perhaps we'll
even bring Lauzanne in for the nuts and raisins at desert.”
“And the Rev. Dolman,--you've left him out,” added the father.
They were both laughing. Just a tiny little ray of sunshine had
dispelled all the gloom for a minute.
“Now I must go back to my horses,” declared Allis, with another kiss.
“Good-bye, dad--cheer up;” and as she went up to her room the smile of
hope vanished from her lips, and in its place came one of firm, dogged
resolve. Allis needed much determination before she had accomplished the
task she had set herself--before she stood in front of a mirror, arrayed
in the purple and fine linen of her brother. She had thought Alan
small, and he was for a boy, but his clothes bore a terribly suggestive
impression of misfit--they hung loose.
Mentally thanking the fashion which condoned it, she turned the trousers
up at the bottom. “I'll use my scissors and needle on them to-night,”
she said, ruthlessly. Thank goodness, the jockeys are all little chaps,
and the racing clothes will fit better.
The coat was of summer wear, therefore somewhat close-fitting for Alan;
but why did it hang so loosely on her? She was sure her brother was
not so much bigger. A little thought given to this question of foreign
apparel brought a possible solution. The undergarments she had tumbled
about in her search were much heavier than her own. Her crusade had its
side of comedy; she chuckled as, muttering, “In for a penny, in for a
pound,” she reincarnated herself completely, so far as outward adornment
was concerned. Then she examined herself critically in the glass. The
mirror declared she was a passable counterfeit of her brother; all but
the glorious crown of luxuriant hair. Perhaps she had better leave it
as it was until she had met with the approval of Dixon--the terrible
sacrifice might be for nothing. She wavered only for an instant--no
half measure would do. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” The slightest
weakness in carrying out her bold plan might cause it to fail.
Twice she took up a pair of scissors, and each time laid them down
again, wondering if it were little short of a madcap freak; then,
shrinking from the grinding hiss of the cutting blades, she clipped
with feverish haste the hair that had been her pride. It was a difficult
task, and but a rough job at best when finished, but the change in
her appearance was marvelous; the metamorphosis, so successful, almost
drowned the lingering regret. She drew a cap over her shorn head, packed
her own garments and a few of her brother's in a large bag, buttoned her
newmarket coat tight up to her throat, and once more surveyed herself
in the glass. From head to foot she was ready. Ah, the truthful glass
betrayed the weak point in her armor--the boots. In an instant she
had exchanged them for a pair of Alan's. Now she was ready to pass her
mother as Allis in her own long cloak, and appear before Dixon without
it as a boy. That was her clever little scheme.
Before going up to her room she had asked that the stableman might be
at the door with a buggy when she came down, to take her to the station.
When she descended he was waiting.
“I'm taking some clothes back with me, mother,” she said. “Let Thomas
bring the bag down, please.”
“You're getting dreadfully mannish in your appearance, daughter; it's
that cap.”
“I have to wear something like this about in the open;” answered Allis.
“But for traveling, girl, it seems out of place. Let me put a hat on
you. I declare I thought it was Alan when you came into the room.”
“I can't wait; this will do. I must be off to catch my train. Goodbye,
mother; wish me good luck,” and she hurried out and took her seat in the
buggy.