"
"Is that your name? 'Hunches Slattery'?" Betty asked curiously.
"That's wot they've called me this ten year back. You see, I was a jockey
when I was a lad, and a good one, too, if Hi do say it as shouldn't. But I
got throwed in a steeplechase race. When they let me out o' the 'orspital
I was like this--'unchbacked and crooked. I been 'Unchie ever since,
Miss."
"I am so sorry," breathed Betty Gordon softly.
But the crooked little rubber was more interested in Ida Bellethorne's
history than he was in his own misfortune, which was an old story.
"I was working in the Bellethorne stables when this mare was foaled. I was
always let work about her. She's a wonnerful pedigree, Miss--aw, yes,
wonnerful! And she was named for an 'igh and mighty lydy, sure enough."
"Named for a lady?" cried Betty. "Don't you mean for a girl?"
"Aw, not much! Such a lydy, Miss! Fine, an' tall, and wonnerful to look
at. They said she could sing like a hangel, that she could. Miss Ida
Bellethorne, she was. She ought've been a lord's daughter, she ought."
"What became of her?" asked the puzzled Betty.
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