Clifford was the fifth – and last – potential buyer that Bruce was showing his horse to. Of the first four, three had shown no interest and one had offered a meagre $300.

'Here he is, Mr Clifford,' said Bruce, leading the man into the stall. 'A beauty, isn't he?'

Clifford stood away, surveying the horse. 'Rather small for a three-year-old. Is he undernourished?'

'He's well-nourished,' Bruce snapped. 'He's strong.'

Clifford walked around the friendly brown colt, patting his body, then stopped to study his legs.

'Small,' Clifford said again. 'Delicate, I suspect.'

'Strong,' Bruce persisted.

Clifford extracted a card from his pocket and studied it. 'The breeding record doesn't promise too much.'

'His dam showed in the Futurity.'

'A poor third,' said Clifford. 'I don't know. I don't think he'd be much of a horse to run. I might be able to use him for stud. I think I can make you an offer of $500.'

'No more?'

'Not a cent more.'

Karen pulled Bruce aside. 'Don't accept it, Bruce. Someone else will come along.'

Bruce returned to Clifford. 'I don't know. I'd like a little more time to make up my mind.'

'You make up your mind, young man,' Clifford said. 'I'll be leaving Chicago three days after the Derby.'

'I'll give you an answer by then,' Bruce promised.

After Clifford had left, Bruce and Karen remained behind in the stall.

Studying his horse as it munched hay, Bruce said, 'Even if I sold him, the buying price wouldn't go very far. Not enough to restart a stable of my own in Kentucky.'

Karen stared at him. 'Are you saying you'd have to take a job with Armbruster – and what goes with it?'

'I'm not saying anything yet,' Bruce protested. 'I'm only saying I have a father who is an invalid, who is about to lose his home, and I'm the only person who can help him. I'm trying to keep reality in perspective, Karen.'

'What about your sister?' asked Karen. 'She's marrying into the Armbruster family.'

'Impossible,' said Bruce. 'She couldn't ask for money from the Armbrusters. We're supposed to be a well-off Southern family. That's why we're staying with our aunts, so that we'll appear to be more than we are. No, it's all up to me.'

'Well, what are you going to do?' She hesitated. 'Except marry Judith Armbruster.'

Bruce ignored her remark. 'I have two choices for the moment. One is to sell Frontier for what Clifford offered. If I do that I'll have no horse and almost no money. The second is to let Frontier run in the American Derby for the $25,000 purse. I've already had him entered, but he'll be up against big favourites like The Picket and he doesn't stand much of a chance. He doesn't have stamina. He doesn't even have a jockey.'

'Find a jockey,' Karen persisted. 'I see no other choice.'

Bruce sighed. 'I've already tried. The top jockeys are signed for other entries. The rest of them wouldn't ride a long shot without a guaranteed payment and for only a percentage of his winnings.'

Unhappily, Karen turned away from the stall to leave. 'I guess your best bet is still Judith Armbruster.'

Bruce followed her out into the stable area, about to protest, when he was diverted by a red Ford chugging towards them. Edmund was at the wheel with Minna Everleigh, her face covered with a veil, beside him and Dr Herman Holmes in the rear seat.

Minna was waving to them. As the Ford came up to them and stopped, Minna called down, 'Bruce, what are you doing here? We're just having a look around before the Derby. Bruce Lester, meet our family physician, Dr Holmes.' Turning to Holmes, she added, 'Doctor Holmes, meet Karen Grant.'

Karen flushed, and momentarily stammered her acknowledgement.

Dr Holmes touched his derby, smiling. 'I've met Miss Grant. Pleased to know you, Mr Lester.'

Minna was addressing Bruce. 'You haven't told me what you're doing here.'

'Remember, I mentioned I brought my best horse up from Kentucky, a three-year-old named Frontier? I have him stabled here. I've entered him in the American Derby.'

'Wonderful,' said Minna.

'Less than wonderful,' said Bruce. 'I entered him, but I haven't got a jockey – I mean, one who'll ride for only a percentage of the purse.'

Minna stared at Bruce. 'You're looking for a jockey to ride Frontier?'

'Exactly.'

'Have you ever heard of a Garrison finish?'

'Of course. When a horse comes from behind to win.'

'Do you know how the expression Garrison finish came into being?'

'No.'

'About ten years ago,' said Minna, 'there was a jockey named Ed 'Snapper' Garrison. In the Suburban Handicap at Belmont Park, Garrison was riding dead last rounding into the stretch. Then he started a whiplashing run through the

stretch, coming from last to first to win by a head. That was a typically Garrison finish.' She paused. 'Well, Ed 'Snapper' Garrison is here in Washington Park today. Have you tried him?'

'Tried him?'

'To be your jockey,' said Minna, rising. 'Edmund, will you help me down?'

On the ground alongside her nephew, Minna adjusted her veil and said, 'Let me introduce you.' She grabbed Bruce by the arm. 'Come along. I just saw Snapper playing chess with a stablehand a few stalls back. He's an old friend. I want you to meet him.'

Briskly, Minna led Bruce away, while Karen trailed behind.

As they approached the two men playing chess, Minna called out and Snapper Garrison jumped to his feet, abandoning the chessboard.

'Wait here a moment,' Minna said to Bruce.

She ran ahead to meet Garrison. He peered up at her, puzzled, until she held aside her veil.

'Why, it's you, Minna -'

'Shhh,' whispered Minna, 'listen. I want you to meet my nephew from Kentucky. He doesn't know what the Everleigh Club actually is and I don't want him to know. Don't mention it. And, Snapper, he thinks my name is Minna Lester.'

'Whatever you say, Minna.'

'Let me bring him over.'

Minna went back to Bruce and Karen, and guided them towards the jockey.

Bruce found himself confronting a very abbreviated, middle-aged man, with the wizened face of a small monkey. He greeted Karen with a grin, and was courteous in a brisk way.

'Snapper, do you have a mount for the Derby?' Minna inquired.

'You know I don't,' said Garrison. 'Except for workouts, I don't ride anymore. Over the hill, I'm told. Too old.'

'You look spry enough to me,' Minna said.

'Oh, I am,' Garrison assured her. 'I've never been in better shape. But nobody else here thinks so.'

'How would you like a mount in the Derby?' Minna asked.

'What do you mean?'

'Bruce here brought a three-year-old thoroughbred up from the Bluegrass Region. He has him entered in the American Derby. Unfortunately, he hasn't found a jockey who'll ride for a percentage. Would you?'

Snapper Garrison grinned again. 'That might be better than what I'm earning now. Still, I don't want to make a fool of myself.' He took in Bruce. 'Do you want to show me this colt of yours? What's his name?'

'Frontier,' Bruce said.

'All right, let me have a look at him,' said Garrison.

Leading Garrison, Minna, and Karen, Bruce brought them to Frontier's stall and gestured Garrison inside.

Garrison spent five minutes examining the horse before he emerged.

'A nice horse, a sound one,' Garrison said. 'His only problem is that he's small.' Garrison's grin reappeared. 'Yet, so am I.'

'You'll ride him?' said Bruce excitedly.

'Oh, sure,' said Snapper Garrison. 'I'll ride him. But I'll tell you one thing. Unless there's hot weather – the hottest May weather – the day of the Derby, he won't have a chance.'

'And if it's a hot day?'

'He'll have a chance,' said Garrison enigmatically. 'I was peeking at my Farmer's Almanac last week. It says the day of the Derby will be a hot day. So let's wait and see.'