The most unpopular man in the group which we now rejoined was undoubtedly Mr. Crick, a blind faith in whose prescience had induced Miss Beverley and Sylvia Mainwaring to adventure an aggregate sum of ten shillings upon Mustard Seed. Ranking a good second in the order of odium came Dicky, who had executed the commission. The fact that he had done so under protest was deemed to have no bearing on the case. Miss Damer said nothing about our little triumph, and I was well content. There is something very intimate and comfortable about a secret of this kind. The great race of the day, the Laxley Cup, was now imminent, and, with the exception of Lady Adela, who issued to me from the depths of the victoria a distinctly somnolent injunction to persevere in my support of the property of the Earl of Moddlewick and Mr. Hector McCorquodale, we departed in a body to back our respective fancies. "Miss Beverley seems a bit put out about something, my son Richard," I observed, as The Freak and I strolled along in the rear of the party. Dicky nodded. "Yes," he said, "she is. She is a dear, but she hates losing money worse than an eye-tooth. I must find a winner for her this time, or I shall have to listen to a song and chorus. You noticed it, too, then?" "Yes. But it was before she lost money. Do you think she disapproves of--" "Of the way I trot around after Connie--eh? No, to do her justice, I don’t think she minds that a bit. She knows that Connie and I have been pals ever since we were quite small nippers. Besides," concluded my friend with an entirely gratuitous chuckle, "everybody trots around after Connie, don’t they?" I admitted briefly that this was so. "No; it is the loss of cash chiefly that makes her fractious," continued Dicky. "That, and my want of dignity and repose on public occasions." "What sort of exhibition have you been making of yourself this time?" I enquired gruffly. Dicky’s last remark still rankled. "Nothing to signify. Hilda and I were taking a stroll on the course together, before you arrived, and I stopped to have a brief chat with an aged Irish beggar-woman. The old dame had a shilling out of me in no time, and we departed under a perfect blizzard of benediction. Hilda seemed rather miffy about it: said I was making her and myself conspicuous. For the Lord’s sake, put me on to a winner for her, old soul!" "Ask Miss Damer," I said. "She is the member of this party who picks up reliable information." But Miss Damer was nowhere to be seen. "She is somewhere in that seething mob, backing horses on her own account," explained Sylvia later. "She said she was n’t going to bother any of the men this time. Do you think it is quite safe?" "Connie knows her way about," said Dicky. "But perhaps we had better go and have a look for her. Do you know which bookie she has been patronising, Tiny?"