The Mystery at Saratoga

morning,” she said, with a bleak smile.
    Mrs. Wheeler hugged her. “It happens to the best of them, Trixie,” she said. “Real gamblers don’t let it keep them from trying again.”
    Trixie and Honey did try again—and again. But in the first three races, they found themselves out of the “pretend” money every time.
    The fourth race was the one that Gadbox was entered in. “Here’s your sure thing, Trixie. Do you want me to increase the size of your ‘bet’?” Mr. Wheeler asked.
    “It isn’t as though you’ve lost a small fortune, Trixie,” Mrs. Wheeler said reassuringly. “We wanted you to have a good time at the races, and part of having a good time is betting, especially when it’s ‘pretend’ betting, which doesn’t hurt, even when you lose!”
    “Well-1-1,” Trixie said slowly, going along with the game and acting as if she wanted to be persuaded.
    “Come on, Trixie, let’s have a sort of bet,” Honey urged. “Think how bad Gadbox would feel if he found out his two new friends didn’t even bet on him!”
    At Honey’s words, a picture formed in Trixie’s mind of the beautiful Thoroughbred pouting in his stall, his lower lip stuck out like that of a hurt child. She began to giggle so hard that she could only nod her agreement to Mr. Wheeler.
    Mr. Worthington and his guests all leaped to their feet the minute the gun signaled the start of the fourth race, and all of them strained nearly as hard as their favorite horse for the duration of the race. The girls jumped up and down and screamed until their voices broke. The adults, trying to be more dignified, lost their composure, and they, too, began to shout encouragement as the horses came round the final turn and Gadbox began to surge into the lead.
    When he finally crossed the finish line, he was four lengths ahead of the second-place horse. Trixie and Honey threw their arms around each other, dancing up and down with excitement.
    “We finally picked a winner, Trixie!” Honey said.
    At Honey’s words, Trixie’s elation vanished. “That’s right, Honey,” she said soberly. “We finally picked a winner. And in the excitement I forgot that, if we were really playing horses, I’d picked three losers before, and I hadn’t paid for the winning ticket, either. I also forgot how much of my ‘winnings’ should go to pay back the money lent me.”
    Smiling, Mr. Wheeler said, “I very much admire your honesty, young lady.”
    Trixie flushed at his praise and pretended to study the racing sheet in order to cover her embarrassment. Suddenly she was struck by an alarming thought: With twelve imaginary dollars in her hands from her winning imaginary bet, Trixie had completely forgotten even Mr. Wheeler’s generosity in buying her dinner the night before and lunch just that afternoon, to say nothing of the hotel bill. Everything had fled from her mind at the thought of having even twelve extra imaginary dollars to spend as she pleased. And for her, they would have been extra dollars, not needed for food or a roof over her head. What if she were really poor, and what if there were a lot more than twelve dollars at stake? It would be even easier, under those circumstances, to forget about loyalty, to forget about someone who had treated you well. Is that what happened to Regan seven years ago? Trixie thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t get the bothersome idea out of her mind. She turned it over and over again during the rest of the afternoon. Once again she wished that she could get Honey alone so that the two girls could talk, but it wasn’t possible. Even when Trixie suggested that she and Honey go to the refreshment stand for a soft drink, Mrs. Wheeler decided to come along to stretch her legs.
    Worried and distracted, Trixie found it hard to keep her hosts from realizing that she was no longer enjoying herself at the races. She was relieved when the last race was over and the stands began to clear.
    “Shall we go down to the winners’ circle?” Mr. Wheeler asked.
    “I—I’d rather not,” Trixie said. “It’s been such a long day. I’d like to go back to the hotel and rest for a while.”
    “Don’t tell me Trixie Belden finally ran out of energy!” Mr. Wheeler teased. “I could have made a fortune taking bets that that would never happen!”
    “Now, Matthew,” Mrs. Wheeler said, “don’t try to change her mind. Let’s send the girls back to the hotel in a taxi. We can meet them there in a couple of hours and