“Why, what do you want us to do, Peter?” asked they penitently, by Gyas, principal spokesman. “Everybody is down on us. We try to do the fair thing. We pay our tailor’s bills and don’t smoke over five cigars a day. We don’t know what to do. Miss Sullivan, up at The Island this summer, used to pitch into us and say we ought to have ambition. Well, I did try politics once and went to the polls to vote. There was an Irish beggar who swore he’d seen me vote twice before. That rather knocked my politics. I’ve read all Thackeray, and Buck on the ‘Sublime,’ and Tennyson’s ‘Sacred Memories,’ and the ‘Pickwick Club.’ Then about religion--I’ll be blowed if I can keep awake in church. It’s no go. I try every Sunday. The Doctor can’t do it, and he’s allowed to be the best preacher in the world. I get asleep and have bustin’ nightmares on account of the painted windows.” “Well, try to be good boys. Don’t bet, and I’ll see if I can think of something for you,” said Peter. The season was drawing to a close. There had been no earthquakes of excitement, no avalanches of clean or dirty scandal. Indeed, since the Pithwitch oration, there had been no event at Newport. People actually began to talk of going away too soon. The race, then, was the right thing at the right time. People began to talk of it astonishingly. Major Granby had, people said, ten thousand dollars bet with Mr. Belden. Major Granby was, so report alleged, a younger son of the Marquis of Grimilkin, and had made an enormous fortune on the turf. Rev. Theo. Logge said that he disapproved very much of betting, but that he should ask the winner to contribute to the Cause--he did not say whether the Lee Scuppernong cause or not. He hoped that his sister in the faith, Mrs. Grognon, would not interrupt her drive to the beach for these carnal excitements. Perhaps it was as well that she should see the race, to know for the future what to avoid. He would escort her and gain experience, which would be valuable to him in warning young men not to go to such scenes of temptation. All the ladies became partisans. Miss Milly Center asked Mr. Dulger if he should ride. “I’ve no horse,” said Billy, safe in that negation. “But,” said Miss Millicent, “Sir Com Ambient has none, and he says he intends to hire one just for the fun of the start.” Unhappy Billy Dulger, whom nature did not shape to fit a saddle, must not be outdone by Sir Com, whom Milly quoted constantly. Billy consulted a livery-stable man. This personage provided Billy with a four-legged quadruped. “He won’t win the first heat,” said the man, “nor perhaps the second; but git him through those, and I shouldn’t be surprised at anything.” Bob O’Link entered his horse. Miss Anthrope, her nature seemingly changed with her proximate change of name, hung about him tenderly, praying him not to ride. She preferred that he should not be killed, for with his death would die Mrs. O’Link _in posse_.