"Quite so! Somebody with a deal of influence," Mrs. Parker
interjected. "John, this is simply delicious. That rascal of a Don
Miguel has reverted to type. He has put aside his Celtic and Gaelic
blood and turned Mexican. He tells people the truth about his horse
and a reporter with a sense of humor has advertised these truths by
writing a funny story about him and Panchito and the Indian imp."
"They'll have him up in the judge's stand for an explanation five
minutes after the race is won," Danny Leighton declared. "Panchito
will be under suspicion of being a ringer and the payment of bets will
be held up."
"In which case, dad," Kay reminded him demurely, "you and Mr. Leighton
will be furnished with an excellent opportunity to prove yourselves
heroes. Both of you will go to the judge's stand immediately and vouch
for Don Mike and Panchito. If you do not I shall--and I fancy John
Parker's daughter's testimony will be given some consideration, Mr.
John Parker being very well known to every racing judge in America."
"There are days," murmured John Parker sadly, "when I find it
impossible to lay up a cent. I have nurtured a serpent in my bosom."
"Tush! There are no snakes in Ireland," his humorous wife reminded
him. "What if Don Mike has hoisted you on your own petard? Few men
have done as much," and she pinched his arm lovingly.
CHAPTER XXXII
Four days before Thanksgiving Brother Anthony returned from El Toro
with Father Dominic's little automobile purring as it had not purred
for many a day, for expert mechanics had given the little car a
thorough overhauling and equipped it with new tires and brake lining at
the expense of Miguel Farrel.
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