“‘Who are you on?’ the other coins asked me eagerly. I had no notion what they meant. ‘What is the name of your horse?’ they said. This puzzled me even more, and I said I didn’t know any names of horses, but the waiter had asked about a flatiron. ‘That’s it,’ said the others; ‘that’s your horse.’ And then I found that several others of them were there for Flatiron’s sake too, while the others were for other horses, such as Saucy Sally, and Pink Pearl, and Rufus, and See-you-later.
“Every moment other coins came tumbling in, and then the race began. We could not see it, of course, but we could hear the cries of the crowd, and we rattled about in our excitement as the names of our own horses reached us. At last it was over, and we heard the man groan out that Flatiron had won. And very soon the waiter came for his winnings, and a half-sovereign and I were handed to him. I tell you I was proud to think that I had been the means of bringing one of those conceited half-sovereigns to life again, but he would not even say ‘Thank you.’
A BLUE RIBBON WAS THREADED THROUGH ME, AND I WAS HUNG ROUND A LITTLE GIRL’S NECK.
“The waiter spat on both of us for luck, and put us in his pocket, and then went off to a refreshment tent, where I was pushed across a wet counter and again dropped into a till, quite damp, but happily I was taken out again before I could catch cold, and given as change to the chauffeur of a motor-car.
“Almost immediately after that the chauffeur started his car and drove his master back to London. I could not see anything—a coin very rarely can—but I felt the vibration of the engine, and every now and then I heard the horn blow.
“The interesting part of the ride, however, was the talk I had with a shilling with a hole in it. ‘Whatever you do,’ he said, ‘don’t ever let them bore a hole in you. Life isn’t worth living after that. It’s not so much that it hurts as that no one will take you. I had a hole bored in me when I was quite new, and a blue ribbon was threaded through me, and I was hung round a little girl’s neck. That was all right, especially as we used to go to all kinds of places together, even to the pantomime and “Peter Pan,” and from where I used to hang I could see too; but one day, in a crowd in London, a thief with a pair of scissors cut the ribbon and pulled me off, and I have never been happy since. I have been in many persons’ possession, but I see nothing of life, because I change hands only at night. When it is light the people won’t have me. They call out, “Hi, this shilling won’t do!” and push me back again. I can’t buy anything by day at all, but at night I am slipped into cabmen’s hands. It is very uncomfortable for me, for not only am I condemned to a kind of furtive, dishonest life, but I have to hear the dreadful things the cabmen say when they discover me.
“‘There is only one worse thing,’ he went on, ‘and that is to be a bad shilling. But there aren’t many of those made, because it doesn’t pay to make false coins so small. The coiners spend their time on bad half-crowns and florins, which cost hardly any more to make than a shilling and are worth ever so much more.’
“He went on to tell me of a bad half-crown that he once knew which was now nailed to the counter of a tobacconist’s in Bermondsey. ‘Think of it,’ he said, ‘nailed to a counter. Never able to move again: never able to buy another thing for ever and ever!’ We both shuddered.
“Directly the car was in its garage the chauffeur hurried to his lodgings and changed his clothes and went out to enjoy himself. It was now about half-past six. He put his money into different pockets, and I found myself with half a crown and a florin. They were fairly sociable, especially when they knew I had won money at the races, but I had their company only a very short time, for suddenly I began to feel myself sinking. I cried out for help, but all in vain; and in a moment I fell with a rush and knew no more until I awoke to find myself in the mud of the street.