"I'll manage it somehow, Sir Robert," said the jockey, "but I'm not myself at all. I wish I were. There'd be no doubt about the result then." "But you are strong enough to ride, you'll not give in?" Fred smiled. "I'm not one to give in. I'll ride the filly and win on her if I can," he said. "That's right," said Sir Robert. "Can I get you anything? Would a glass or two of champagne brace you up?" "I've had a liqueur brandy," said Fred. "That will mix with the champagne. Come with me." Fred drank two glasses and felt better; the color came back into his cheeks, his hands were firmer, the shivering left him; if only it would last until Tearaway had won. All was bustle and excitement; the horses were being saddled for the great race, fifteen of them, a larger field than usual. Ripon was a hot favorite, and it was probable he would start at two to one. He had been second to Snowball in the Derby, and ninety-nine out of a hundred people who saw the race vowed he was unlucky to lose, that his jockey rode a bad race on him, and came too late. Snowball broke down and was scratched for the St. Leger, so they could not fight their Epsom battle over again; even had this been the case Ripon would in all probability have been the better favorite. Bronze, Harriet, The Monk, Field Gun, Hot Pot, The Major, and Dark Donald, were all supported; a lot of money was going on Bronze. Tearaway had been backed at a hundred to five; when it was known Fred Erickson was not well her market position was shaken and she went out to thirty-three to one. Fletcher Denyer was in the ring. Of late there had been some coolness between him and Lenise. He had no desire to lose her; as he saw her slipping away from him he became anxious to possess her altogether. He recognized at last that he was in love, that she was necessary to him, part of his life, that it would be very dull without her. Chance might put something in his way; he was a believer in luck. If only he could discover something about this man Rolfe, who had come between them. No one appeared to know anything about him. He had made inquiries in various quarters; William Rolfe had never been heard of. It seemed strange, a man with money too, and moving in racing circles, where people generally found out all about each other. Lenise Elroy had avoided him in the paddock, he saw it plainly; it angered him, but he had the sense to know he must not interfere but bide his time.