Dixie, a three-year-old filly whom he had recently purchased, showed unmistakable evidences of winning class in her try-outs, and her owner watched her like a hawk, satisfaction in his heart, biding the time when he might at last show Kentucky that her sister State, Virginia, could breed a horse or two.

“I’ll keep Dixie’s class a secret,” he was wont to chuckle to himself, as, perched on the rail in all sorts of weather, he clicked off her time.  “I think it is the Carter my learned friend will endeavor to capture again.  I’m sure Dixie can give Rogue five seconds in seven furlongs—­and a beating.  That is, of course,” he always concluded, with good-humored vexation, “providing the colonel doesn’t pick up in New York an animal that can give Dixie ten seconds.  He has a knack of going from better to best.”

Now Major Calvert glanced up with a smile as Garrison entered.

“I thought you were in bed, boy.  Leave late hours to age.  You’re looking better these days.  I think Doctor Blandly’s open-air physic is first-rate, eh?  By the way, Crimmins tells me you were out on Midge to-day, and that you ride—­well, like Billy Garrison himself.  Of course he always exaggerates, but you didn’t say you could ride at all.  Midge is a hard animal.”  He eyed Garrison with some curiosity.  “Where did you learn to ride?  I thought you had had no time nor means for it.”

“Oh, I merely know a horse’s tail from his head,” laughed Garrison indifferently.  “Speaking of Garrison, did you ever see him ride, major?”

“How many times have I asked you to say uncle, not major?” reproved Major Calvert.  “Don’t you feel as if you were my nephew, eh?  If there’s anything I’ve left undone—­”

“You’ve been more than kind,” blurted out Garrison uncomfortably.  “More than good—­uncle.”  He was hating himself.  He could not meet the major’s kindly eyes.

“Tut, tut, my boy, no fine speeches.  Apropos of this Garrison, why are you so interested in him?  Wish to emulate him, eh?  Yes, I’ve seen him ride, but only once, when he was a bit of a lad.  I fancy Colonel Desha is the one to give you his merits.  You know Garrison’s old owner, Mr. Waterbury, is returning with the colonel.  He will be his guest for a week or so.”

“Oh,” said Garrison slowly.  “And who is this Garrison riding for now?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t followed him.  It seems as if I heard there was some disagreement or other between him and Mr. Waterbury; over that Carter Handicap, I think.  By the way, if you take an interest in horses, and Crimmins tells me you have an eye for class, you rascal, come out to the track with me to-morrow.  I’ve got a filly which I think will give the colonel’s Rogue a hard drive.  You know, if the colonel enters for the next Carter, I intend to contest it with him—­and win.”  He chuckled.

“Then you don’t know anything about this Garrison?” persisted Garrison slowly.