"That's handsome; I'll accept the coat, a blue pilot, and a pair of boots, a tie, and a cap. I've got a fancy waistcoat my father used to wear. It's all over flowers and it's got pearl buttons. It's a knock-out; you'll admire it--perhaps you'd like to borrow it," said Brack. Rose declined, said he would not deprive Brack of it for worlds. "You'll come with me?" he asked. "Oh, yes; I'll come to oblige Mr. Woodridge; he's a gent and no mistake. Will you come and see my old mother?" Rose thought it would be diplomatic to do so. Evidently Brack was a man who wanted humoring; it was humiliating, but he must go through with it. Old Mrs. Brackish welcomed the visitor, dusted a chair for him, treated him with apparent deference which soothed Rose's feelings. He declined to remain for dinner, making as an excuse that he never ate anything until evening, it did not agree with him, the mid-day meal. When he left it was with a sense of relief. "The mother is better than the son," he thought; "she knew what was due to my position." "He's a pompous old fool," she said to Brack when he was out of the house. Brack laughed as he said: "You've hit it, mother; you generally do." "An' so you're agoin' to Yorkshire," she said with a sigh. "Sometimes I wish I were back there, but it wouldn't suit me, and he's been very good to us here, Brack." "We've nowt to grumble at," said Brack. "We're better off than lots o' people. I may make a bit o' money at Doncaster on Leger day--you know how lucky I am over the race." "You oughtn't to bet," she said. "I don't. My bit isn't bettin'; I just put a shillin' on now and again for the fun of the thing. Where's the harm in that?" he asked. "I suppose you know best, Brack, and you've always been a good son to me," she said. "And I always shall, have no fear of that, mother." And she had not; her faith in him was unbounded. Brack looked quite rakish, so he told himself, when he gazed in a mirror in the hat shop next day, on the way to the station. He had been to the barber's, had his whiskers and mustache trimmed, his hair cut, and a shampoo. "I'm fresh as paint," he said to Rose, who was glad to see him so respectable. The smell of the sea hung about him, but it was tempered by some very patent hair oil which emitted an overpowering scent. Several porters spoke to Brack, asking where he was going. "Doncaster to see the Leger run." They laughed and one said: "Bet you a bob you don't get farther than Exeter." "Don't want to rob you, Tommy," was the reply. "I'll give you chaps a tip--have a shilling or two on Tearaway." "Never heard of him." "It's a her, not a he." "Whose is she?" "Mr. Woodridge's, Picton Woodridge's." "The gentleman who rode four winners here last Easter, and won the double on The Rascal?" "The same, and he's given me the tip." "Nonsense!" "Gospel," said Brack. "You must have come into a fortune; it'll cost you a pot of money going to Doncaster."