Dollie was immensely relieved. "That's all right, then," he said. "Racing without betting's like oysters without lemon. Some people pretend to like it for the sport only; but there isn't any sport. There's only a great, sweltering crowd that lasts for hours, and every half-hour a brown rush which lasts a second that you can't see because someone's in the the way. That's racing when you don't bet. But when you do bet it is interesting all the while. You don't notice the crowd and you do notice the merry little gees." "But isn't betting very bad for people?" Naomi inquired. "Bad for those who can't afford to be pipped," said Dollie, "yes. But I don't know that it's done me much harm. Whisky and soda instead of _vino veritas_, now and then, I'll admit; but when you chance to hop on to a winner, what ho, for the ancient vintage. The awful thing about betting," Dollie continued, "is, that no matter whether you lose or whether you win, you always reproach yourself. You always say, 'If only I'd done so and so." "But you had what's called a tip, I suppose," said Naomi, with, I thought, strange knowledge. "Yes, but a man who bets is always in two minds. That's the second tragic thing about it. The third is that he's always superstitious. I'll give you an instance. You've got a strong tip for a horse called Knucklebones. But there's another horse in it called Bobby. Well, you're just crossing the road to send a telegram to your bookie to back Knucklebones (or perhaps you've sent it), when a policeman grabs your arm and snatches you out of the way of a taxi. After that how can you possibly not back Bobby?" "Why?" Naomi inquired blankly. "Because of the policeman--Bobby--don't you see?" "Poor things," said Naomi, with real anguish. "How difficult you make life for yourselves, and how sorry we ought to be for you. I never thought before how racing men suffer. And some people are so down on them too!" "Oh," said Dollie, "if you want to pity us I can give you plenty more material. If you only knew what I suffer before I send the telegrams. Which bookie to send to, for example. If I lost the last time, I wonder whether I hadn't better change to another; for everyone has more than one. And then the post offices: which one to go to, because some have been luckier than others. And even which hand to take the stamps with when you lick them on." "Poor Dollie, poor Dollie," said Naomi. "And then," Dollie continued, "think what it must be to have a tip for a horse and put your shirt on it in a telegram, and then, not long before the race, meet another man whose information is usually good who gives you a totally different tip! There's misery for you!" "And what do you do?" Naomi asked.