The Mystery at Saratoga

eyebrows. That let Mr. Worthington out as a source of information about Regan. The two had probably never even met.
    “Actually,” Mr. Worthington continued, “when I said I was lucky to have Carl working for me, I wasn’t being exactly accurate. Truthfully, I have Carl working for me because I’m unlucky.” He chuckled at the girls’ bewildered looks. “What I mean is that we haven’t been very lucky with our horses the past few years. The stable has just about broken even; we haven’t actually lost money, but we haven’t made any, either. And that, in a way, is what’s kept Carl with me. He’d like to be an owner himself, and he has all the knowledge of both training and finances to do it. But, although he’s paid a fair salary, he needs the bonus he’d get for bringing along a real winning horse to raise the capital to buy stock and set himself up in business. So you see,” Mr. Worthington concluded, “if my luck improves and I have one or two good seasons, I’ll probably lose my trainer.”
    “Does that mean you’d rather not win?” Trixie asked bluntly.
    Mr. Worthington scowled, and for a moment Trixie was afraid that he was about to lose his temper. Then he regained control and chuckled once again. “Of course not,” he said. “Carl is a brilliant trainer, but no one is irreplaceable. I’ve devoted my life to making money because I like making money. The horses have been pretty much a hobby until now, but if they turned into a profitable concern, I’d be as pleased as anyone. And now I’d suggest that we take our seats at the track. The race will be starting soon.”

    Mrs. Wheeler joined them in Mr. Worthington’s private box at the track, chatting happily about her morning’s shopping and asking the girls about their behind-the-scenes tour. The girls assured her that the morning had been very educational, exchanging a guilty glance as they both thought again about how much of the reason for their trip to Saratoga they were keeping secret from Honey’s parents.
    “With what you learned this morning, you should be well able to make some educated picks this afternoon,” Mr. Wheeler said jovially. “If you have any sure things you’d like to tell me about, I’ll be happy to listen.”
    “I’d say Gadbox is a sure thing,” Trixie said. “And I’d say nobody should bet on that bay we saw this morning.”
    “The bay is in the first race,” Mr. Worthington said. “There are only four horses in the race, so if you’ve eliminated one of them, you only have three left to pick from. Which one do you like?” He handed her his copy of the racing form, which contained information about all of the horses that would be racing that day.
    Trixie and Honey studied it carefully, trying to make sense of the mass of information about the horses’ sires and dams, their workout times from that morning, and their record of wins and losses in past races.
    Finally Trixie handed the form back to Mr. Worthington with a sigh. “I guess my favorite horse for the first race is Freckles. That isn’t based on his track record, his workout time, or his breeding record.”
    “I know what it’s based on,” Honey said with a giggle. “The reason for your choice is as clear as the nose on your face—or maybe I should say as clear as the freckles on the nose on your face.”
    “You guessed it, Honey,” Trixie said. “If that poor horse has freckles, too, he has my sympathy— and my hopes for his good luck.”
    “I’ll pretend that I went down to the window and placed a bet on him for you,” Mr. Wheeler said, laughing.
    Very soon, the horses were being led onto the track. “That has to be Freckles,” Trixie said, pointing to a dapple gray horse that stood out against the field of bays and chestnuts.
    “It is indeed,” Mr. Worthington said after he’d checked the horse’s number against his racing form. “And the horse we saw this morning in the workout is number five, Willmore. We’ll soon see if his time this morning was his all-out best or if we were fooled by his trainer’s little game.”
    The horses were settled in their gates, the gun went off, and the race began. Freckles took an early lead, then began to lose ground to the other horses. At the same time, Willmore began to move up, and at the finish line he was in the lead by more than a length, while Freckles lagged far behind.
    Trixie tossed both hands into the air. “So much for all the inside information I picked up this