"Don't they, sir?" answered Old Mat, wiping an innocent blue eye. "And they gets no better as the years go by. They saddens me and Mar. They does reelly."
Boy Woodburn, making her way through the crowd, joined the little group.
"Congratulations, Miss Woodburn," said the Ambassador's daughter shyly. "The best horse won."
The fair girl beamed on the dark.
"Thank you, Miss Whitney," she answered. "A good race. You were giving us a ton of weight."
Perhaps the girl was a little paler than her wont; but there was no touch of lyrical excitement about her. Outwardly she was the least-moved person in the Paddock.
Jim Silver's eyes were shining down on her.
"Well," he said.
She led away. He followed at her shoulder, the horse's bridle over his arm.
"You've won your hundred thousand," she said.