During the night Lord James touched Jaundice with his hand and waked him. Very quietly and with a return of long-forgotten dignity, he entrusted to Jaundice an envelope upon which was written an address in England, charging him to mail it and allow no one to see it. He asked Jaundice to see the boys and ask them to bury him decently. Then he gripped Jaundice’s hand and died gamely, sustained by the traditions of his race and class. Jaundice alone wept. It was the first time in many years he had wept, and he was ashamed of his tears. Around the race-track no man connected with the game dies and lacks a decent funeral, but there was scant sympathy for Lord James. The hat was passed, bookmakers, jockeys, trainers, owners, grafters, even the pickpockets, contributing, but their contributions were small. The whole amounted to eighty dollars. Jaundice was not satisfied. Had he been satisfied, there would have been no story to tell. On the day following the horses moved to Belmont Park to open the racing season on that track, and Doc Grausman was entered to start in a high-weight handicap. Doc Grausman belonged to a wealthy man whose colors Jaundice had often carried to victory. This owner had not entered the horse in the handicap with any expectation of winning. The colt needed work, and he wanted to see how well the three-year-old could carry weight racing against all aged horses. Jaundice had not slept. His clothing still was damp and he was coughing. For the time his abiding love for Doc Grausman was put in the background while he went from man to man begging money to give Lord James what he considered a proper and fitting funeral. The undertaker wanted one hundred and fifty dollars. Jaundice was determined to raise the sum before the afternoon’s sport ended. Shortly before the bugle sounded, calling the horses from the paddock for the first race, a fractious colt lashed out with his feet and kicked the jockey who had been employed to ride Doc Grausman in the fourth. Jaundice heard of the accident within a few minutes. It was he who hurried to the club-house and informed the owner. “Thanks, Jaundice,” the owner said carelessly. “I wanted the colt to have the workout. Now, I suppose I’ll have to scratch him. I don’t want to put a strange boy up.” “Mister Phil,” said Jaundice, inspired with a sudden idea, “let me ride Doc Grausman. I’m down to weight, Mister Phil. I only weigh a hundred and twenty-eight now. Let me ride him, Mister Phil, and I’ll win.” His voice was pleading, his eyes and manner appealing, and he coughed harder. The owner was surprised and laughed slightly. “I’m afraid it can not be fixed, Jaundice,” he said lightly. “How do you stand with the stewards?” “I’m clean with them now, Mister Phil. They ain’t got nothin’ on me. They never could prove I pulled Lady Rose. I’m down to weight, Mister Phil, and that Doc Grausman horse likes me.” His eagerness and the truth of the final statement decided the matter.