The Mystery at Saratoga

else in having the fanciest carriage pulled by the most beautiful horses. People didn’t drive their own carriages, of course. They had drivers to do that, and they even tried to outdo each other in giving their drivers the fanciest uniforms to wear.”
    Trixie wrinkled her nose. “I think it sounds downright boring,” she said. “They probably spent all morning getting into all those clothes, fixing their hair, inspecting their horses and carriages. Then they spent the afternoon sitting in the carriages, riding up and down the street—without even having the fun of driving themselves. No wonder they started going to the races. They must have been dying for something to do!”
    “That must have been what John Morrisey thought,” Honey said. “He was the man who brought horse racing to Saratoga. He built the first race track here back in 1863, and a year later he opened the track that we’ll be going to, where the races are still held. That makes Saratoga the oldest track that’s still operating in the whole country! In fact, one of the biggest stakes races here, the Travers Cup, was started in 1864, eleven years before the first Kentucky Derby!”
    Once again, Trixie let out a low, appreciative whistle. “It’s really incredible, Honey. We’re only a hundred and fifty miles from home, and we’re in a place that has so much history.” She chuckled.
    “Napoleon’s brother and George Washington in swim trunks—practically in our backyard!”
    Trixie and Honey both paused to look around them, half expecting to see the parade of fancy carriages still taking place. Instead, they noticed for the first time that, as they’d been talking, they had left the well-preserved, attractive part of Saratoga and had entered a district that had a much different feeling about it—a feeling of sadness and poverty.
    The streets were lined with run-down brick and frame buildings. Hand-painted signs announced rooms for rent by the day, week, or month, and the prices told the girls that the rooms would not be like the clean, sunny one that they had just checked into. Here and there they saw a large plate glass window with the word Restaurant painted across it, and beyond the window, scratched wooden tables and rickety-looking chairs. Besides the cheap hotels and restaurants, many of the businesses in this neighborhood were pawnshops, their windows displaying a variety of objects that looked somehow abandoned, as though they knew that their original owners would never reclaim them.
    Honey slipped her arm through Trixie’s, and the girls stood close together. Looking at Honey, Trixie saw that her friend’s hazel eyes were glistening with tears. Poor Honey , she thought. She's so sensitive to other people's feelings. Just being here, in this run-down neighborhood, she's thinking about the people who have to live here and wishing she could do something to help them. Trixie squeezed her friend’s arm and made her own voice sound cheerful as she said, “It’s getting late. We should go back to the hotel, before your parents start to worry about us.”
    Honey nodded silently and turned back in the direction from which they had just come. Then she blurted, “I’m so glad I do have parents to worry about me. Think about all these poor people—people who had to pawn their most prized possessions because they had no one to turn to—” She broke off and swallowed hard.
    Not knowing what to say, Trixie squeezed Honey’s arm again, trying to remind her that she, at least, was not alone.
    “Daddy’s told me about this side of Saratoga, too,” Honey said quietly. “I—I guess I never really understood what he was talking about, though. He says that for some people, gambling becomes a disease. They can’t stop themselves. If they’re winning at the track, they tell themselves that they’re on a lucky streak. They convince themselves that they can win a fortune if they just keep gambling, placing bigger and bigger bets. Then when they start to lose, they still don’t stop gambling. They tell themselves that their luck is bound to change, and they just keep on until their winnings are all gone. Then—” She broke off again and gestured to the scene around them, with its cheap restaurants and pawnshops. “They’ll lose their jobs and leave their families without a penny, just to come here and bet everything they have on the horses.”
    “It’s hard to believe that people could be like that, isn’t it?” Trixie