Mr. Sheldrake helped himself to brandy-and-water, lit a fresh cigar, threw his cigar-case to Alfred with the air of an old acquaintance, and seemed as if he would have been perfectly satisfied to smoke and drink without conversation. But Alfred was not so disposed. "So you did a good thing on the Derby," he commenced familiarly; "backed the Zephyr Colt, eh? I wish I had!" "Backed it at the right time, my boy; backed it in April, and got thirties to one three times in hundreds." "Nine thousand to three hundred," Alfred put in rapidly and enviously. "That's a good calculation of yours, and quickly done," observed Mr. Sheldrake, with a nod of approval. "O yes, I'm good at mental arithmetic," was the conceited answer. "That's what's wanted in racing matters. You go to a race, and you hear the odds bawled out, and you want to hedge, perhaps; the odds are constantly changing, and you've got to seize them at the proper moment. To do that properly, you must be smart at figures, and then you're all right. I know many a man who can't write anything but his own name, and who makes pots of money because he can calculate the odds quickly. It's a gift, and you've got it, my boy. Fill up your glass." Alfred filled his glass, his face beaming with conceit. "Go on with the Zephyr colt," he said. "You stuck to the bet, didn't you?" "No, I didn't; I hedged, like a fool." "Ah, _I_ shouldn't have done that!" "No more ought I, and no more should I, if I had had some one to advise me. You know it was at the commencement of April that the colt was at thirty to one, and a fortnight afterwards it was at twelve. I hedged at those odds to win my three hundred pounds, and make myself safe." "So you stood to win five thousand four hundred and to lose nothing," said Alfred rapidly, having been looking out for another opportunity to exhibit his prowess in mental arithmetic. "What wonderful calculation!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake in admiration, to Alfred's intense delight. "You could make a fortune in the ring." "Do you think so? _I_ think I could." "I'd give a thousand pounds this minute to be able to reckon up figures as you can." "You make plenty, though, without that." "I only do what any man can do, if he keeps his head cool. Did you back anything for the Derby?" "Yes, worse luck," replied Alfred, with a groan, emptying his glass to wash down a rising remorse. "I wish I had known you then. You might have told me to back the Zephyr colt. You would, wouldn't you?" "That I would, for your pretty sister's sake. I wish we _had_ known each other then! What did you back?" "Three horses--Bothwell, King of the Forest, and Digby Grand. Everybody said Bothwell was sure to win, and that's why I backed it, although I didn't fancy it." "It's a bad thing to back three horses; never back more than one, and stand to it to win a good stake."