I started toward the betting stand, but suddenly stopped short. No, Murray was to make one bet for both of us, and had undoubtedly done what he thought was best--I would abide by his judgment. But did he know what I knew--where could he be? The crowd, which was now surging out of the betting ring toward the fence and up into the grand stand, thinned out rapidly; but I held my place, hoping to catch sight of Murray. "Come on here and make your bets," yelled the book-makers, with whom business had begun to grow slack; "they 're at the post--they 'll be off in a minute." I accepted the invitation. Rushing up to the nearest stand, I handed up two silver dollars. "Peytonia," I said, with all the nonchalance I could assume. "Peytonia," repeated the book-maker; "four hundred to two," and in a moment more I was the possessor of a fantastically-colored piece of card-board, on which was scribbled in pencil "Peyt.--400-2." Suddenly there was a roar of excitement. "They 're off," was the cry from a thousand throats, and I and the other tardy ones rushed to find a favorable spot from which to view the race. I had n't time to hunt up our box; so making for the fence, I forced my way in next to the rail just as the horses, all in a bunch, swung recklessly around the first turn. As the race progressed they began to string out, one horse very clearly taking the lead. "The Maid's in front, Senator Irby second," yelled an enthusiast just beside me. "Where's Sister Mary? Maid Marian 's quittin'. There 's Flora Thornton. Go on, you Flora. Maid Marian 's out of it. The Senator 's leadin'. Flora is second. _Just look at Peytonia_. I leaned over the rail, my heart in my mouth. Down the stretch they came at a terrible pace; some three were in front, running almost as one. In a breath they were by us and under the wire, but which of the three was first I could not determine. Instantly there was a babel of voices, in which Senator Irby, Peytonia and Flora Thornton were severally declared to have won, and a general movement toward the judges' stand was inaugurated for the purpose of learning "the official." I had scarcely gone a dozen yards before I ran across Murray, viciously elbowing his way through the crowd. There was something so irresistibly funny in the expression of rueful chagrin which sat upon his good-natured face, that I forgot my excitement and began to laugh immoderately. "Now, what do you think of that for luck?" he exclaimed on catching sight of me; "Senator Irby, a stake-horse, to be beaten out by an old dog like Peytonia? It's enough to--" "Peytonia!" I echoed breathlessly, "did Peytonia win?" "Of course she won. Did n't you see the race?" For a moment I simply could n't speak, but clasping the tighter my precious ticket, I swallowed heroically at the lump in my throat, while Murray, unmindful of my silence, continued.