Glenning did not attend the fair the first two days. He had good and sufficient reasons for finding his practice so urgent that he could not leave it, but the afternoon of the third day he drove out. The sights and sounds which greeted him as he passed through the gates were all familiar. To one side some half grown boys were throwing at rag babies. Further on was the merry-go-round, piping its crazy tune, and carrying its precious freight of happy children. Yonder was the booth where beer was dispensed, and it had a liberal patronage, for the day was hot. Tents were scattered here and there, with gaudy, distorted pictures, representing something impossible in nature or art, reared before them to tempt the unsophisticated. There, too, was the fakir, crying his swindling schemes in a strident voice. Nestled to the track, and crowded with restless humanity, was the grandstand. At one end of this was the betting shed. John secured his horse, and went around to the track stables. The races that afternoon had small interest for him. His thoughts were of The Prince, and his chances on the morrow. He found the door to the colt's stall securely locked on the inside, and a stable hand laughingly told him that no one was allowed to enter. John rapped on the door and called Peter. The old fellow recognized his voice and let him in, locking the door behind him. The stall was well lighted and John could see the colt plainly. He appeared in the best condition, and his bay coat was glistening from the constant rubbing his attendant gave him. "Does any one ever come in here but you, Uncle Peter?" "No, _suh_! Dey ain' nobody stuck he haid in heah 'cep' me!" "That's right. No one else has any business in here. There's lots of trickery about horse-racing, Uncle Peter, so don't let a soul get within arm's length of The Prince!" "Yo' neen' pester yo' haid 'bout dat, suh!" "Miss Dudley has not yet returned, but the Major will be here tomorrow afternoon, and so will I. You ride The Prince, Uncle Peter?" A pair of indignant white eyeballs rolled towards the questioner. "Yo' 'low I gwi' let any udder nigguh git straddle dis hoss! Yes, suh, I ride 'im, 'n' I ride 'im at de head ob de whole bunch!" "He is looking splendid," John replied, and then he inspected the box stall carefully, seeing that there were no holes in which a horse might catch his foot and go lame. Then, with a few parting injunctions to Peter, he left the grounds. He remembered that the afternoon train from the East arrived at half past three, and there might be a letter. Fifteen minutes later he was turning in the driveway in front of the Dudley mansion. There were people on the portico, and at first glance he saw that one was Julia, still in her traveling dress. And there was the Major--but the third was an old man he had never seen before. Probably some resident of Macon, who, learning of the Major's recent indisposition, had come out for a friendly chat.