"Ladies and gentlemen!" cried the chief official. "Your attention, please! Today we have witnessed a truly spectacular feat: the setting of a new track record by a champion racing under a tremendous handicap. I give you a magnificent racehorse—Tapwater!"
"That's right, folks!" I bawled, carried away by the excitement. "Give this little horse a great big hand!"
Setting the example, I laid down the bag, started clapping vigorously. From a distance I heard Pat Pending's agonized scream.
"Mr. Mallory—the suitcase! Grab it!"
I glanced down, belatedly aware of the danger of theft. But too late. The bag had disappeared.
"Hey!" I yelled. "Who swiped my bag? Police!"
"Up there, Mr. Mallory!" bawled Pat. "Jump!"
I glanced skyward. Three feet above my head and rising swiftly was the valise in which I had cached not only our winnings but Pat's gravity-defying rod! I leaped—but in vain. I was still making feeble, futile efforts to make like the moon-hurdling nursery rhyme cow when quite a while later two strong young men in white jackets came and jabbed me with a sedative ...
Later, when time and barbiturates had dulled the biting edge of my despair, we assembled once again in my office and I made my apologies to my friends.