Jennie had been talking to me all the time in her quiet way, for she had the good old English habit of subdued speech; but little did I hear then, and now I remember almost nothing at all. I first noticed that she had become vastly indignant at a reflection on the courage of the "Unknown who dares not show himself." "Don't fret: you'll see him soon enough, my man," she said, with a toss of her head. She was giving me some absurd instructions about letting Simmons get the best of the start, and then sailing by him in the last few yards, so that the disappointment might be more intense, when some one in the crowd yelled out with a Yorkshire accent, "Fifteen dollars to five on the long-legged Chipper. Fifteen to five against the 'veiled lady.'" There was a loud laugh at this, which was too much for Jennie. She jumped up, went to her little desk in the corner, and took from one of those secret drawers, which are so evident, her purse, and emptying it in her lap counted out five dollars and a few cents over. She then called the chamber-maid, gave her the five dollars, and told her to give it to Jerry, the hostler, to bet on Mr. Brown. "'Tis an easy way to make money," she said, with an immense amount of disdain at my remonstrance. I sat with her a while longer, she doing all the talking, for my mind was occupied, to put it mildly. When the little clock on the shelf pointed to three-thirty, I left to get into my running-togs, she giving me a good grip with her soft warm hand, and saying, "I shall see you win from the attic window." When I reached my room, which Hacking told me to keep locked, I had a difficulty in finding the key-hole that I had never experienced, except "after dinner" or at late hours of the evening, my fingers being quite unsteady. As I stripped, my courage seemed to leave me with every garment. I remember I wondered if it would come back again when I put on my running-clothes. A little better I did feel, but at the last moment I broke the lace of my left shoe as I was pulling it tight. Now, there is an old superstition that this means a lost race, and though I had never thought of such a foolish thing before, it seemed now a sure omen of defeat. Indeed, I may as well confess first as last, that when Hacking knocked at my door, for the first time in all my life (and the last as well) I was in a blue funk. Yes, a rank quitter was I on that afternoon of May 1, 186-, and I am not sure I should not have cut and run, had there been the least chance to get away. Hacking discovered my condition at once, and grew mighty serious when his efforts to hearten me were unsuccessful. And truly the man had good reason to be serious,--a good three hundred dollars at risk, and here was his man with knees kissing and lips white.