"You’re sure this Prunella isn’t taking my place in your affections?" she demanded severely. "That all this isn’t a subterfuge?"
"My God, no! She quits before she starts."
"All right," Incubus said. "Now, I am reliably informed by the stable grapevine that Godlove’s entering me in a six-thousand-dollar claimer. You spent almost all your money on Prunella—how’re you going to claim me?"
There was dead silence in the stable.
"These men," she sighed. "Without us females to think for them they’d be lost. The answer is simple. Prunella’s got to win that race. Then you’ll have the purse, plus whatever you can bet on her, and you’ll get good odds."
"Prunella win the race! She couldn’t beat a speedy snail."
"She’ll win the race." Incubus grinned happily.
*
The weather was clear and the track fast. Incubus was running at three to five—Prunella ninety-eight to one. Reuben Godlove appeared with his arm in a sling and a bandage on his forehead and glowered at Watson. "A fine trainer you are," he snarled.
"Let’s see how well you’ve done with her," Watson suggested, smiling amiably.
The starting gate opened and all the horses dashed out—all except Prunella, who sauntered forth and stood admiring the view. Incubus turned, ran back and nipped Prunella viciously in the forequarters. With a whinny of rage Prunella proceeded to chase Incubus, who was showing a fleet pair of heels along the track. But there were six horses between Prunella and her attacker.
With a thrust of her powerful shoulders, Incubus sent Dernier Cri staggering into the geraniums that bordered the field. She thrust a hoof into the path of Kropotkin and sent him and his rider sprawling on the track. She murmured something into Epigram’s ear and that black colt turned light grey and refused to budge another step.
There were now three horses between Incubus and Prunella. Polyhymnia suddenly started to run backward. Sir Bleoberis buried his head in the sand and pretended he didn’t notice the race was still going on. Cacliucha—who had hitherto not been known as a jumper—hurdled the rail and dashed into the crowd of astonished players.
Still Incubus ran lightly before Prunella, half a length ahead, kicking dust in her face and making irritating remarks, while the enraged filly laid her ears back and bared white teeth to snap at her rival. One length before the finish line Incubus suddenly stopped short, leaving momentum to carry Prunella over the line to victory!
Prunella had won the race. Incubus was second but was disqualified for conduct unbecoming a horse and a lady. It was never determined who had run third.
"Together again at last, Watson," Incubus said during the joyful reunion in the paddock. "Ah, but it’s been a long, long time . . ."
"Two weeks," commented the jockey, who had ridden Prunella.
"Listen, pipsqueak," Incubus told him irately. "I’ve spent the whole two weeks cooking up this speech and I don’t want a half-pint like you spoiling it. It’s been a long, long time, Watson . . ."
Prunella nickered.
"None of your lip, either,"
Incubus said. "Where would you have been if I hadn’t won your race for you? Oh, you can run if you want to, can you? Ha! Ha! Plater!"
Prunella neighed angrily.
"Okay, Watson’ll enter you in a claimer without me and we’ll see what you can do." She turned toward her owner. "And now, Watson, I trust you have a hot tub prepared. I’m so-o-o-o tired . . ."
*
The racing secretary entered Incubus for an allowance with some misgivings. "But if she behaves again this time the way she did last she’s out, Watson. Suspended—disqualified! Can’t have that sort of thing going on, you know."
"She’s actually the most tractable of horses, sir," Watson assured him. "It’s merely that Mr. Godlove didn’t know how to handle her."
"Oh—ah," the racing secretary said.
"And I’d like to enter Prunella in the five-thousand-dollar claimer." The racing secretary smiled. "Well, Mr. Watson, you don’t have to be afraid that anybody’ll claim her. Godlove has spread the word around. Now everybody’s afraid to claim a Watson horse."
Prunella won handily in her claimer and Incubus breezed to victory in her allowance. "Bet on Watson horses," the word went round the tracks. Incubus won a Class C, Class B and Class A handicap in swift progression. Prunella came in first in two seven-thousand-dollar claimers and second in a ten- thousand-dollar one.
And then Incubus came in last in a stake race at Aqueduct.
"What’s the matter with you, Incubus?" Watson demanded. "You can run ten times around the track before any of these nags could reach the quarter-mile pole."
Incubus lay on her back in the hay and chewed reflectively on a straw. "You know, Watson," she said, "there are finer things in life than racing."
"What, for instance?"
She simpered. "I’ve been talking to Pamplemousse—you know, Godlove’s horse—and he says it isn’t ethical what I’m doing, that I’m competing with horses way below my class, that it isn’t fair."
"But there aren’t any horses in your class."
"I know," she sighed. "Sometimes superiority can have its disadvantages. That’s what Pamplemousse says—he says it isn’t fair for me to run at all. Says woman’s place is in the home. Do you think woman’s place is in the home, Watson?"
Prunella neighed in the adjoining stall.
"That’s a dirty lie!" Incubus shrieked, getting up. "I double dare you to say it once more." Prunella kept silence.
"You’re in love, Incubus?" Watson asked gently.
She bowed her head. "I didn’t know I could be—I thought I was too tough. But you’re never too tough. Oh, I know I’m a stake horse and he’s still only a claimer but I love him just the same."
"Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, Inky, I guess you have a tight to. Only"—he gulped—"I’d entered you in the Belmont Futurity and it means . . . so much to me."
Incubus wiped away a tear with a wisp of hay. "All right, Watson, I’ll win the Futurity for you. After all you have first claim on my loyalty. Who brought me out of obscurity? You! Who recognized my potentialities? You! Who made a horse out of me? You!"
Incubus won the Belmont Futurity and was carried off the track on the shoulders of a cheering crowd. Retouched photographs of the big black horse hit not only the sport pages but the front page of every newspaper in the country.
But the question of her racing again was shelved for the nonce. Shortly after the Futurity, Watson discovered that Incubus was pregnant. "Pamplemousse?" he asked.
She nodded shyly.
"But how could you do it? You two were in separate stalls."
Incubus snickered. "I have my methods, Watson."
"He’s a low cad," said Watson. "I knew what I was doing. I went into it with my eyes open."
He wondered just how he was going to enter the foal in the stud book Although it would be of impeccable ancestry its escutcheon would be married by a bend sinister.
Some months later, Incubus called Watson to her stall.
"What is it, Inky?"
"I don’t know how to tell you this, Watson. I’ve got to go back."
"Back! Back where, Inky girl?"
"Back where I came from. Oh, I might have known it was never to be, that you can’t wipe out the past. Still I’d hoped