Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/81

 tremendous estate, and they say he had a sort of a private race track on his estate, where he used to work them out. Had a daughter, too, I think. I saw her once, five—six years ago—just out of boarding school.” Val sat up again.

“His daughter?” he repeated.

The other nodded lazily. “Yeh. Funny lookin’ little tike, too. Skinny legged, with freckles and ugly red hair—I say, what’s up?” he asked in alarm.

Val had shut up his check book and put it in his pocket.

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “Only you don’t get a nickel, that’s all.” Ugly red hair, indeed. Freckles and skinny legs. The poor, misguided simp! Had the nerve to ask him for money, too. Why⸺

“Oh, I say, Val, you know you⸺” he broke off with a whistle, and a grin spread its way across his pleasant, weak face.

“So that’s it,” he said, enlightened. “The filly, eh? Well, you know, Val, she was only a kid when I saw her,” he said ingratiatingly. “You know, that kind usually grow up into awf’ly fine looking girls. In fact, come to think of it, this girl’s eyes were great—nicest I ever saw—white star on her forehead and—er, I mean, nice skin, and the freckles were really very fetching, if you know what I mean. She was⸺”

Val laughed. “Freddy, you old hypocrite, you win! Only the next time you say a girl has red hair think it over carefully before you open that fool mouth of yours. That nearly cost you five hundred dollars, and cheap at the price, too. Now, this Jessica horse—how about placing a little bet on her for me, too?”