"You've got to get another horse, Mr. Watson. Do you have enough money?"
"Well, the purse from this race is almost two thousand, and I made
another thousand betting on Incubus. And, of course, Godlove gave me
four thousand for her. But that won't be enough to buy a decent horse
and maintain him--expenses are terrific."
The jockey chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "I know what you can do,"
he said at length, "you can buy Prunella. She's set at a price of five
thousand dollars but her owner's pretty disgusted with her--she has
good lines but she finished last in twenty-seven starts--and I think
you could have her for four thousand in cash."
Prunella, a meek-looking chestnut filly with big brown eyes and a
vicious temper, was enthusiastically disposed of for four thousand and
installed in Incubus' vacant stall. Watson shed a silent tear to see
Incubus' second-best saddle hanging there on the wall.
In the dead of night he slipped into Godlove's stable. Incubus was
awake, reading the _Morning Telegraph_. "Look at the picture they have
of me," she snapped. "Obviously taken by an enemy. Next time Watson,
remember--my right profile is the best."
"I'll remember," he promised and told her what had happened.
"You're sure this Prunella isn't taking my place in your affections?"
she demanded severely. "That all this isn't a subterfuge?"
"My God, no! She quits before she starts."
"All right," Incubus said. "Now, I am reliably informed by the stable
grapevine that Godlove's entering me in a six-thousand-dollar claimer.
You spent almost all your money on Prunella--how're you going to claim
me?"
There was dead silence in the stable.
"These men," she sighed. "Without us females to think for them they'd
be lost. The answer is simple. Prunella's got to win that race. Then
you'll have the purse, plus whatever you can bet on her, and you'll get
good odds."
"Prunella win the race! She couldn't beat a speedy snail."
"She'll win the race." Incubus grinned happily.
* * * * *
The weather was clear and the track fast. Incubus was running at three
to five--Prunella ninety-eight to one. Reuben Godlove appeared with his
arm in a sling and a bandage on his forehead and glowered at Watson. "A
fine trainer you are," he snarled.
"Let's see how well you've done with her," Watson suggested, smiling
amiably.
The starting gate opened and all the horses dashed out--all except
Prunella, who sauntered forth and stood admiring the view. Incubus
turned, ran back and nipped Prunella viciously in the forequarters.
With a whinny of rage Prunella proceeded to chase Incubus, who was
showing a fleet pair of heels along the track. But there were six
horses between Prunella and her attacker.
With a thrust of her powerful shoulders, Incubus sent Dernier Cri
staggering into the geraniums that bordered the field. She thrust a
hoof into the path of Kropotkin and sent him and his rider sprawling
on the track. She murmured something into Epigram's ear and that black
colt turned light grey and refused to budge another step.
There were now three horses between Incubus and Prunella. Polyhymnia
suddenly started to run backward. Sir Bleoberis buried his head in
the sand and pretended he didn't notice the race was still going on.
Cachucha--who had hitherto not been known as a jumper--hurdled the rail
and dashed into the crowd of astonished players.
Still Incubus ran lightly before Prunella, half a length ahead, kicking
dust in her face and making irritating remarks, while the enraged filly
laid her ears back and bared white teeth to snap at her rival. One
length before the finish line Incubus suddenly stopped short, leaving
momentum to carry Prunella over the line to victory!
Prunella had won the race. Incubus was second but was disqualified for
conduct unbecoming a horse and a lady. It was never determined who had
run third.
"Together again at last, Watson," Incubus said during the joyful
reunion in the paddock. "Ah, but it's been a long, long time...."
"Two weeks," commented the jockey, who had ridden Prunella.
"Listen, pipsqueak," Incubus told him irately. "I've spent the whole
two weeks cooking up this speech and I don't want a half-pint like you
spoiling it. It's been a long, long time, Watson...."
Prunella nickered.
"None of _your_ lip, either," Incubus said. "Where would you have been
if I hadn't won your race for you? Oh, you can run if you want to, can
you? _Ha! Ha! Plater!_"
Prunella neighed angrily.
"Okay, Watson'll enter you in a claimer without me and we'll see what
you can do." She turned toward her owner. "And now, Watson, I trust you
have a hot tub prepared. I'm so-o-o-o tired...."
* * * * *
The racing secretary entered Incubus for an allowance with some
misgivings. "But if she behaves again this time the way she did last
she's out, Watson. Suspended--disqualified! Can't have that sort of
thing going on, you know."
"She's actually the most tractable of horses, sir," Watson assured him.
"It's merely that Mr. Godlove didn't know how to handle her."
"Oh--ah," the racing secretary said.
"And I'd like to enter Prunella in the five-thousand-dollar claimer."
The racing secretary smiled. "Well, Mr. Watson, you don't have to be
afraid that anybody'll claim _her_. Godlove has spread the word around.
Now everybody's afraid to claim a Watson horse."
Prunella won handily in her claimer and Incubus breezed to victory
in her allowance. "Bet on Watson horses," the word went round the
tracks. Incubus won a Class C, Class B and Class A handicap in swift
progression, Prunella came in first in two seven-thousand-dollar
claimers and second in a ten-thousand-dollar one.
And then Incubus came in last in a stake race at Aqueduct.
"What's the matter with you, Incubus?" Watson demanded. "You can run
ten times around the track before any of these nags could reach the
quarter-mile pole."
Incubus lay on her back in the hay and chewed reflectively on a straw.
"You know, Watson," she said, "there are finer things in life than
racing."
"What, for instance?"
She simpered. "I've been talking to Pamplemousse--you know, Godlove's
horse--and he says it isn't ethical what I'm doing, that I'm competing
with horses way below my class, that it isn't fair."
"But there aren't any horses in your class."
"I know," she sighed. "Sometimes superiority can have its
disadvantages. That's what Pamplemousse says--he says it isn't fair
for me to run at all. Says woman's place is in the home. Do you think
woman's place is in the home, Watson?"
Prunella neighed in the adjoining stall.
"That's a dirty lie!" Incubus shrieked, getting up. "I double dare you
to say it once more." Prunella kept silence.
"You're in love, Incubus?" Watson asked gently.
She bowed her head. "I didn't know I could be--I thought I was too
tough. But you're never too tough. Oh, I know I'm a stake horse and
he's still only a claimer but I love him just the same."
"Well, if that's the way you feel about it, Inky, I guess you have a
right to. Only"--he gulped--"I'd entered you in the Belmont Futurity
and it means ... so much to me."
Incubus wiped away a tear with a wisp of hay. "All right, Watson, I'll
win the Futurity for you. After all you have first claim on my loyalty.
Who brought me out of obscurity? You! Who recognized my potentialities?
You! Who made a horse out of me? You!"
Incubus won the Belmont Futurity and was carried off the track on
the shoulders of a cheering crowd. Retouched photographs of the big
black horse hit not only the sport pages but the front page of every
newspaper in the country.
But the question of her racing again was shelved for the nonce. Shortly
after the Futurity, Watson discovered that Incubus was pregnant.
"Pamplemousse?" he asked.
She nodded shyly.
"But how could you do it? You two were in separate stalls."