"What the 'ell's this?" asked the wondering book-maker.
"It's fifty," answered Checkers, laconically.
"Well, it's the first time I ever seen one of them babies—but it looks like it's good. Remorse, four hundred to fifty."
"If I win, I want it back," said Checkers. "It was given to me by—it's my lucky piece."
"All right," was the answer, and Checkers walked away with his dearly purchased ticket deep in his pocket.
Under a steady but somewhat mysterious play, Remorse was cut to four to one, and the favorite went up to six to five. This was gratifying to Checkers, as indicating that Brown and his friends were confident.
He went up into the grand stand; the horses were at the post. Remorse was acting very badly—plunging, kicking and refusing to break. "I 'll just about get left at the post," thought Checkers. "Say, that favorite looks good," he remarked to a young fellow next to him.
"Good," echoed the youth; "well, I should say he is good. He 's cherry-ripe, and he 'll gallop in. If I had a thousand dollars, and did n't know where I was goin' to eat to-night, I 'd put it all on him. There 's a lot of 'marks' around toutin' Remorse to beat him—why, that old mare could n't beat a carpet; her last two races she could n't get out of her own way."
This was pleasant for Checkers, but he held his counsel. The next moment the starter dropped the flag.
Remorse, with a running start from behind, got two lengths the best of it; and, setting a hot pace, widened up the gap between herself and the field in a way that cheered Checkers' heart.