"'Done!' says Mr. Van again. He looks at the other guy colder 'n ice when he says it. "Ferguson nods to him 'n' rides off. "The English gink has heard the bet, 'n' when Ferguson beats it he shakes his head. "'Aw, old chap!' he says. 'That's a bit raw--don't you think? I'm sorry you let him draw you. It's a beastly mess.' "'I'm not afraid of him and his horse!' says Mr. Van. But I can see he ain't feelin' joyous. "'Damn him and his hawss--and you too!' says the English gink. 'Aw, it's the young girl you've dragged into it, Billy!' "'It's a confidential matter, and no names were mentioned,' says Mr. Van. "'Don't quibble, old chap!' says the English gink. 'The name's nothing. And as for its being confidential--Ferguson is sure to tell that--aw--French puppy he's so thick with, and the viscawnt'll be--aw--tea-tabling it about by five o'clock!' "'You're right, of course,' says Mr. Van, slow. 'It was a low thing to do--a cad's trick. No wonder you English are so rotten superior. You don't need brains--the right thing's bred into your bones. Your tempers never show you up. We revert to the gutter at the pinch.' "'Oh, I say! That's bally nonsense!' says the English gink. 'I would have done the same thing.' "'Not unless the fifteen hundred years it's taken to make you were wiped off the slate,' says Mr. Van. 'However, I'll have to see it through now.' "The guys that run the club say Rainbow can start in the cup race. Mr. Van tells me, 'n' the next week I watch him while he sends the hoss over the course. We're comin' up towards the club-house, after the work-out, 'n' we run into Miss Livingston. She hands Mr. Van the icy stare 'n' he starts to say something but she breaks in. "'I wonder you care to waste any words on a mere racing wager,' she says. "'Please let me try to explain . . .' says Mr. Van. "'There can be no explanation. What you did was the act of a boor--and a fool,' says the dame, 'n' walks on by. "I think over what she says. 'She's more sore cause she thinks he'll lose than anythin' else,' I says to myself. 'He ain't in so bad, after all.' But Mr. Van don't tumble. He's awful glum from then on. "There's a fierce mob of swells at the course the day of the race, classy rigs as far as you can see. The last thing I says to Mr. Van is: "'You've got the step of them any place in the route, but you're on a thoroughbred, 'n' he'll run hisself into the ground if you let him. You don't know how to rate him right--so stay close to the Macbeth hoss till you come to the last fence, then turn Rainbow loose, 'n' he'll make his stretch-run alone.'