A HOT YOUNG COMET
"That's right; praise her; pet her; make her think she's great, so
she'll do it all over again."
Harry turned away wrathfully from the joyous greetings of Lucille and
Chauncey Hamlin to Pauline.
"Harry is quite right," said Lucille. "I ought to snub you entirely.
It is disgraceful, it's wicked to be as brave as you are, Polly."
"Oh, I say, Lucy," pleaded her brother. "You'll have Miss Pauline all
upset."
"She likes it," snapped Harry. "She's been upset out of everything
from a balloon to a house afire, and now she's looking for new
capsizable craft."
"Polly! You wouldn't try it again! You don't want any more thrills
after this?" Lucille's astonishment was sincere.
Pauline cast a serpentine glance at Harry. "Am I to live quietly at
home with a creature like him?" she inquired.
"Why don't you have me beheaded, O Great White Queen?"
"The braves are reserved for torture. Where are you people going so
bright and early?" she added turning to Chauncey.
"Going to take you for a little morning spin. Car's perfectly safe."
"Yes, do come along, Polly," urged Lucille.
"What! In a safe car? Never!" exclaimed Harry. "It isn't done, you
know--not in this family. Now, if you had a hot restless young comet
hitched at the door, Chauncey."
Pauline laughed merrily. "No, I couldn't go this morning even behind a
restless young comet." She glanced mischievously at Harry. "Duty
before pleasure; have important business on hand. No, I can't tell
even you, Lucille--you're not to be trusted. You'd be sure to tell
Harry."
As the Hamlins drove off, Harry turned anxiously.
"You've not forgotten your promise? There is to be a long rest from
wildness, isn't there--no more adventures?"
"Yes--a rest from wild ones. I am going to have a tame adventure
now."
"Polly, Polly! What do you mean?"
"This," she answered, taking the morning paper from the table.
Unfolding it, she showed him a headline:
GREAT LORDNOR STABLES
TO BE AUCTIONED
World-Famous Horses of Late Millionaire Sportsman Under Hammer.
"Well?" questioned Harry.
"Don't you see?" she tantalized him.
"Not in the least."
"I am going to buy Firefly and ride him in the steeplechase handicap."
Harry's smile was almost despairing, but he answered quickly. "Oh, I
see. You'll have me ride him and break my precious neck. I thought for
a second you meant to ride yourself."
"That's just what I do mean. It will be gorgeously exciting--and
perfectly safe."
"Safe?"
"Well, of course, I might be killed by a fall or something."
He laughed in spite of himself. "I shall not permit it," he said.
"You will not permit it?" she beamed. "Then I'll ask my guardian. I
may ride Firefly in the steeplechase if I choose, mayn't I, Owen?" she
asked brightly.
Pauline could never bear malice; already she had forgiven Owen, as well
as Harry.
The secretary had just entered and was watching the two with a
questioning eye.
"If we own Firefly, you may," he smiled back at her.
"I told you," she triumphed over Harry.
"But we don't own him," said Owen, puzzled.
"We shall this afternoon. The Lordnor stables are being sold. Please
give me a great deal of money so that I can't be outbid."
"Does Miss Pauline really mean this?" asked the secretary.
"She does," Harry answered in a tone of disgust at what he thought now
was only Owen's weakness. There seemed no chance of a plot against
Pauline in this original scheme of her own.
"She rides wonderfully. I do not see why she should not," Owen
condescended.
"You don't seem to see much of anything," declared Harry.
"But you'll take me to the auction?" coaxed Pauline.
"I'll have to--or you'll spend the whole estate on a Shetland pony."
Owen sauntered from the room, laughing. Bareheaded he walked quite
across the garden and down into the wood-copse by the path gate.
A gypsy was leaning upon the gate and gazing nervously up and down the
road. He turned at the sound of Owen's footsteps, and the eyes of the
young chief, Michel Mario, gazed apprehensively into the smiling eyes
of the secretary.
"How are you, Balthazar?" greeted Owen.
"Don't use that name to me," pleaded the gypsy. "You have work for
me? I have come all the way back from Port Vincent to see you."
"It was kind of you," said Owen with the faintest tinge of sarcasm.
"Yes, I have important work for you. Have you ever doctored a horse,
Balthazar?"
"Many times--but not with my beauty medicine," grinned the chief.
"I mean with a hypodermic needle. I mean a race horse-so that he might
possibly fall in a race."
"And injure the rider?"
"Exactly."
"It is very easy--but very dangerous. I should want--"
"I know; I know," exclaimed Owen petulantly. "Here is the money."
Balthazar gloated over the yellow bills.
"And here is the weapon."
The Gypsy took the needle from the hand of the secretary and thrust it
quickly into the inside pocket of his blouse. "Thank you, master. I
will do what you say," said the Gypsy, making a move to go.
"Not quite so fast," commanded Owen. "You do not know the place or the
time."
"The Jericho track next Saturday," answered the Gypsy promptly. "What
is the horse?"
"Firefly. It will be bought at the Jericho stables this afternoon.
You will be there to see it and to remember it. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye master--and many thanks."
Michael Caliban, wealthiest of sportsmen, attended the auction of the
Lordnor stables, and seemed bent on adding the entire string of
splendid horses to his own far-famed monarchs of the track.
The only time during the afternoon that he met with defeat was when the
famous steeplechaser Firefly was brought out.
"Five hundred dollars," said Caliban curtly.
"Six hundred," said the musical voice of a girl and the crowd turned to
look.
Caliban smiled condescendingly. "A thousand," he said.
"There, you see you can't do it. The horse isn't worth any more,"
cautioned Harry.
"Fifteen hundred dollars," cried Pauline.
"Does she mean that, or is this only a joke?" demanded Caliban, turning
to the auctioneer.
"The lady's word is good enough for me. Going at fifteen hundred--
going, going--"
"Two thousand dollars. I guess that'll stop any jokes around here,"
grinned Caliban.
"Three thousand," said Pauline so quickly that even Harry gasped, cut
short in mid-protest.
Caliban turned away and strode disgustedly out of the crowd amid hoots
of laughter.
"He is worth it; why he is worth any price," cried Pauline as the
smiling groom led Firefly up to her.
The magnificent animal thrust its nose instantly between her
outstretched arms, and as she patted him delightedly the crowd rippled
with spontaneous applause.
Harry joined her on the way to see Firefly put in his stall. He gave
the caretaker instructions, and laughingly dragged Pauline away from
her new pet.
As they entered their machine, Raymond Owen came from behind the
stable.
Engrossed in the business complications growing out of the European
conflict, Harry had quite forgotten Firefly and the steeplechase when
the day of the great Jericho handicap arrived.
He was in the library reading a letter when there burst upon his sight
through the open doorway a vision that took his breath away.
Pauline, in full jockey uniform, white and blue and yellow, was
pirouetting on her gleaming black boots before him.
"Polly!" he cried, unable to grasp the meaning of the prank. "Have you
cut off your hair?" he added in alarm.
"No; here it is," she laughed, snapping off her visored cap and
revealing masses of hair.
"Oh, don't do it," he begged. "Look! Here's a letter from the
McCallans asking us to their house party in the Adirondacks. We're
expected tomorrow. Let's go there instead."
He handed her the letter. Without glancing at it she flicked it into
the air with her riding crop and danced out of her room..
"So I surrender again," he murmured, laughing in spite of himself.
Riding out toward the starting line, Pauline swerved her course a
little to avoid the gaze of the gentlemen riders who eyed her
curiously. She heard a call from an automobile beside the track and
rode, over to where Harry and Owen were seated in the car.
Their lifted hats as, she bent to shake hands with them caused the
crowd to stare in astonishment. Pauline, blushing furiously, sped
Firefly to the line.
"That horse works queer," commented Harry, as she rode away.
"Do you think so?" asked Owen.
"Yes, it's on edge, but its legs are shaky. I wonder..."
But the riders were ready. The signal sounded. The crowd's cheer rose
in the names of their various favorites. Field-glasses were
unbuckled.
"By jolly, Firefly took the first jump in the lead," cried Harry, a
thrill of admiration lightening the worry in his heart.
"He's all right," said Owen.
Over the wide green the horses began to string out, with Firefly
ahead.
"She's going to win it; I believe she is," exclaimed Harry excitedly as
he and Owen stood in the automobile. "No--no; he wobbled at the
fourth jump. He's losing ground."
But Firefly seemed suddenly to grip his strength as one horse passed
him. He pulled himself together under Pauline's urging. He regained
the lead.
They came down splendidly toward the homestretch. The bodies of the
powerful beasts rose one by one over the last hedge.
"They're over! They've won--or, heaven help her! They're down!"
Leading at the last jump, the drugged heart of the great horse had
conquered his courage. As he stumbled heavily, Pauline shot over his
head and lay helpless in the path of the other riders.
Harry, dashing madly toward the track, but hopelessly far from her, had
to turn away his head as the crashing hoofs passed her. When he looked
again, attendants were carrying her swiftly to the clubhouse. He sped
toward it, Owen following.
Harry tore his way through the excited crowd to the side of Pauline. A
doctor was administering restoratives. Pauline opened her eyes and
looked about her bewildered. She saw Harry's anxious face and smiled
penitently.
"I've--learned a lesson this time," she whispered.
"It is nothing serious--her shoulder bruised a little," said the
doctor.
"Thank Heaven!" breathed Raymond Owen with well feigned emotion.