"They’re off!" exclaimed Miss Damer. "We can’t cross the course now. Come on to this stand." We raced up a flight of steps, and presently found ourselves on a long balcony in a position which commanded a view of the entire course. "Your jockey," announced Miss Damer to me, "is pale blue with chocolate sleeves and cap. Mine is red, with white hoops. Can you see them anywhere?" "I can see mine," I said. "He is having a chat with the starter at present, but I have no doubt he will tear himself away presently." "But the others are halfway home!" cried Miss Damer in dismay. "So I perceive." "You poor man!" "Never mind!" I replied quite cheerfully. There is something very comforting about being called a poor man by some people. "Where is your friend?" "There, in that bunch of four. He is going well, is n’t he? That’s the favourite, Mustard Seed, lying back." "I expect his jockey will let him out after he gets into the straight," I said. "If he isn’t very careful," observed Miss Damer with perfect truth, "he will get shut out altogether." The horses swept round the last corner and headed up the final stretch in a thundering bunch. Suddenly Miss Damer turned to me. "This is fearfully dull for you," she said. "Not at all," I assured her. "My horse has just started." "Come in with me on Periander," pleaded my companion. "You can only lose five shillings." I closed with her offer by a nod. Some partnerships can be accepted without negotiation or guarantee. Suddenly the crowd gave a roar. The favourite had bored his way through the ruck at last. He shot ahead. The noise became deafening. "There goes our half-sovereign!" shrieked Miss Damer despairingly in my ear. "Wait a minute!" I bellowed. "Periander is n’t done for yet." There came a yet mightier roar from the crowd, and as we leaned precariously over the balustrade and craned our necks up the course, we perceived that a horse whose jockey wore red and white hoops was matching the favourite stride for stride. "Periander! Periander!" yelled those who stood to win at ten to one against. "Mustard Seed!" howled those who stood to lose at six to four on. But they howled in vain. The flail-like whips descended for the last time; there was a flash of red and white; and Periander was first past the post by a length. We descended into the ring and sought out our bookmaker. There was no crowd round him: backers of Periander had not been numerous; and it was with a friendly and indulgent smile that he handed Miss Damer her half-sovereign and a five-pound note. "Can you give me two-pounds-ten for this?" she asked, handing me the note. It was useless to protest, so I humbly pocketed my unearned increment, and we left the ring in search of the rest of our party. "I have never won gold before," announced the small capitalist beside me, slipping the coins into her chain-purse--"let alone paper." Her smiling face was flushed with triumph.