CYNTHIA. [_Still interested and forgetting the discomfort of the situation._] How did you ever manage to come such a cropper? JOHN. Streak of blue luck! CYNTHIA. [_Quickly._] I don't see how it's possible-- JOHN. You would if you'd been there. You remember the head man? [_Sitting down._] Bloke? CYNTHIA. Of course! JOHN. Well, his wife divorced him for beating her over the head with a bottle of Fowler's Solution, and it seemed to prey on his mind. He sold me-- CYNTHIA. [_Horrified._] Sold a race? JOHN. About ten races, I guess. CYNTHIA. [_Incredulous._] Just because he'd beaten his wife? JOHN. No. Because she divorced him. CYNTHIA. Well, I can't see why that should prey on his mind! [_Suddenly remembers._ JOHN. Well, I have known men that it stroked the wrong way. But he cost me eighty thousand. And then Urbanity ran third in the thousand-dollar stakes for two-year-olds at Belmont. CYNTHIA. [_Throws this remark in._] I never had faith in that horse. JOHN. And, of course, it never rains monkeys but it pours gorillas! So when I was down at St. Louis on the fifth, I laid seven to three on Fraternity-- CYNTHIA. Crazy! Crazy! JOHN. [_Ready to take the opposite view._] I don't see it. With her record she ought to have romped it an easy winner. CYNTHIA. [_Her sporting instinct asserting itself._] She hasn't the stamina! Look at her barrel! JOHN. Well, anyhow, Geranium finished me! CYNTHIA. You didn't lay odds on Geranium! JOHN. Why not? She's my own mare-- CYNTHIA. Oh! JOHN. Streak o' bad luck-- CYNTHIA. [_Plainly anxious to say "I told you so."_] Streak of poor judgment! Do you remember the day you rode Billy at a six-foot stone wall, and he stopped and you didn't, and there was a hornet's nest [MATTHEW _rises._] on the other side, and I remember you were hot just because I said you showed poor judgment? [_She laughs at the memory. A general movement of disapproval. She remembers the situation._] I beg your pardon. MATTHEW. [_Rises to meet_ VIDA. _Hastily._] It seems to me that horses are like the fourth gospel. Any conversation about them becomes animated almost beyond the limits of the urbane! [VIDA, _disgusted by such plainness of speech, rises and goes to_ PHILIP _who waves her to a chair._ PHILIP. [_Formally._] I regret that you have endured such reverses, Mr. Karslake. [JOHN _quietly bows._ CYNTHIA. [_Concealing her interest and speaking casually._] You haven't mentioned your new English horse--Pantomime. What did he do at St. Louis? JOHN. [_Sitting down._] Fell away and ran fifth. CYNTHIA. Too bad. Was he fully acclimated? Ah, well-- JOHN. We always differed--you remember--on the time needed-- MATTHEW. [_Coming over to_ CYNTHIA, _and speaking to carry off the situation as well as to get a tip._] Isn't there a--eh--a race to-morrow at Belmont Park? JOHN. Yes. I'm going down in my auto. CYNTHIA. [_Evidently wishing she might be going too._] Oh! MATTHEW. And what animal shall you prefer?