"Spirited, yes."
"Too much spirit, perhaps."
Bruce shrugged. "Allan wouldn't thank you for a cream-puff. He knows how
to ride--he's proud of it--he warms to a horse with plenty of fire."
"And yet--." The cane in the right hand swished gently against a trouser
leg. "Even a skilled rider might find it dangerous to ride a strange,
fiery horse in the dark."
"Why don't you tell that to Skipper, Doctor? It's his show. Anyhow, the
mare isn't a killer. I know horses."
"And gypsies?" the doctor asked softly.
Joe was conscious of those strange premonitions twitching at his nerves.
Bruce gnawed at his mustache.
"I might as well tell you," he flung out suddenly. "Of course I knew that
the gypsies had made camp; I talked to some of them. When you've had your
own taste of being harried and pressed you shrink from hounding others.
The truth is, Doctor, I've lost practically all of what money I had a
year ago. Skipper had a hot tip on a deal and let me in. It wiped me
out."
Joe saw that the right hand no longer swished the cane. The groom took
the mare back to the stable, and the crowd went off shouting in search of
some new interest. Dr. Stone said, "Lady, house," and returned to the
porch. The house seemed to be momentarily deserted; but suddenly a voice
came from one of the rooms off the wide, center hall.
"I tell you I can't--not now. Give me time. A week--two at the most. I'll
make good. I--"
The blind man's feet rang hard against the floor. The voice stopped
short, and a receiver snapped back upon a hook. Alec Landry came out into
the hall.
"Oh! It's you, Doctor. You'll pardon me; I have an errand that won't
wait." Abruptly, on his way to the door, he turned and came back. "What
do you think of the mare?"