There came a yet mightier roar from the crowd, and as we leaned precariously over the balustrade and craned our necks up the course, we perceived that a horse whose jockey wore red and white hoops was matching the favourite stride for stride.
"Periander! Periander!" yelled those who stood to win at ten to one against.
"Mustard Seed!" howled those who stood to lose at six to four on.
But they howled in vain. The flail-like whips descended for the last time; there was a flash of red and white; and Periander was first past the post by a length.
We descended into the ring and sought out our bookmaker. There was no crowd round him: backers of Periander had not been numerous; and it was with a friendly and indulgent smile that he handed Miss Damer her half-sovereign and a five-pound note.
"Can you give me two-pounds-ten for this?" she asked, handing me the note.
It was useless to protest, so I humbly pocketed my unearned increment, and we left the ring in search of the rest of our party.
"I have never won gold before," announced the small capitalist beside me, slipping the coins into her chain-purse--"let alone paper." Her smiling face was flushed with triumph.
"I think I know who will rejoice at your victory to-morrow," I said, "and participate in the fruits thereof."
"Who?"