"The gray streak shoots on. She is past the others. She is rushing for the finish wire as no horse ever ran before. She is away. One length, two lengths, six lengths of daylight show between her and the rest. She gallops past the finish posts with Elijah looking back at the others! "She has won! You have won, David. I have won. We are rich. Happy. The world's before us. David, do you see?" "Is it possible? But no, Benjamin, not Jurith. Some other, perhaps, Shakra--Glani--" "No, we would take Jurith--twenty-five years old!" Connor's last words trailed off into hysterical laughter. _CHAPTER SEVENTEEN_ David was still flushed with the excitement of the tale, and he was perplexed and troubled when Connor's strange, high laughter brought to an abrupt end the picture they had both lived in. The gambler saw the frown on David's brow, and with an effort he made himself suddenly grave, though he was still pale and shaking. "David, this is the reason Jurith can win. Somewhere in the past there was a freak gray horse. There are other kinds of freaks; oranges had seeds in 'em; all at once up pops a tree that has seedless fruit. People plant shoots from it. There you have the naval orange, all out of one tree. It's the same way with that gray horse. It was a freak; had a high croup and muscles as stretchy as India-rubber, and strong--like the difference between the muscles of a mule and the muscles of most horses. That's what that first horse was. He was bred and the get came into this valley. They kept improving--and the result is Glani! The Eden Gray, David, is the finest horse in the world because it's a _different_ and a better horse!" The master paused for some time, and Connor knew he was deep in thought. Finally he spoke: "But if we know the speed of the Eden Grays, why should we go out into the world and take the money of other men because they do not know how fast our horses run?" Connor made sure the master was serious and nerved himself for the second effort. "What do you wish, David?" "In what measure, Benjamin?" "The sky's the limit! I say, what do you wish? The last wish that was in your head." "Shakra stumbled a little while ago; I wished for a smoother road." "David, with the money we win on the tracks we'll tear up these roads, cut trenches, fill 'em with solid blocks of rock, lay 'em over with asphalt, make 'em as smooth as glass! What else?" "You jest, Benjamin. That is a labor for a thousand men." "I say, it's nothing to what we'll do. What else do you want? Turn your mind loose--open up your eyes and see something that's hard to get." "Every wish is a regret, and why should I fail of gratitude to God by making my wishes? Yet, I have been weak, I confess. I have sometimes loathed the crumbling walls of my house. I have wished for a tall chamber--on the floor a covering which makes no sound, colors about me--crystal vases for my flowers--music when I come--"